


Manners and Misunderstandings

by mostlyclouds



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Alternate Universe - Napoleonic Wars, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, M/M, renly and loras is very much a minor aspect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2020-09-14 04:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20267389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlyclouds/pseuds/mostlyclouds
Summary: The Stark sisters have travelled all the way to London to begin their first season, leaving behind the familiar world of Winterfell Hall and a disappointed Jon Stark- with whom the eldest Miss Stark has been convinced to break off a connection. In London they join family friends the Baratheons and the fashionable young Tyrells in a world of romance and balls.Meanwhile Gendry Waters has been plucked out of the life he knew to become his ailing father's heir, Robb, Theon and later Rickon embark on military careers in the Napoleonic wars, and their aunt Lysa makes a foolish marriage.When tragedy hits the family, they must come together, learning how manners may hide monsters and the best people are often those misunderstood by society.





	1. In which they say goodbye to Winterfell

Winterfell has been the home of the Stark family for generations, it is an old building- famed for its high grey walls and semi fortified architecture, although rarely visited, due to its remote location. The current Stark at Winterfell is Sir Eddard Stark, fondly known as Ned by his close friends and his wife. Sir Eddard was a quiet, unassuming kind of man, fond of his many children and his wife, Mrs Stark, who had been a society beauty in her time. Unlike many society marriages, theirs was a happy one, both finding a sense of purpose in their family and shared values, although Sir Eddard despaired sometimes of his wife’s society upbringing, distracted by frivolous matters and with little time for his love of philosophy and political campaigns. None of his children had shown this passion either, until the birth of Brandon- his second son. It was an irony then, that he was named after the once heir- Sir Eddard’s elder brother- who had disappeared off under the cloud of scandal to the New World. This bookish nature was also found in Jon Stark- Sir Eddard’s nephew- of whom he was incredibly fond. He had grown up on a cottage on the grounds of Winterfell with his mother. The two were regular guests at Winterfell, and incredibly dear to all of them. 

The eldest of their daughters, Sansa, had grown up listening to her mother’s tales and longed to go South and visit London- where father went for parliament- or Bath. Arya, the younger daughter, was distinctly less enthusiastic and dreaded joining this years season with her 17th birthday fast approaching. Myrcella Baratheon- a close family friend- had written rapturous letters about her time as a debutante- teasing her more boyish friend about the yards of myrish lace and silk that had to be chosen and sewn before one could even dream of going to a ball. It did not help, of course, that Mrs Stark had long made a pet of her pretty eldest daughter- whose red hair and slim long limbs resembled her own in her youth. She herself had been considered a beauty, but she considered her eldest to be even more beautiful than she had once been. Arya, while not unhandsome, was the plainer of the two- shorter, with dark hair and long face. Dressed in formal attire she always had an awkward look about her, and yet those who loved her well knew that there was something striking about her- especially when active and in her element. 

Their oldest son, soon to be lieutenant Robb Stark, had just received his commission- would be joining them in London before making his way to his unit. Before the trip, they held a small but cheerful gathering, with both their cousins (maternal and paternal), Catelyn’s sister Lysa and Robb’s friend Mr Greyjoy, who was to join him as a fellow officer, making up the numbers of the company. 

Lysa Arryn and Robin Arryn were the only ones who seemed aloof from the affection of the group. Like her sister, Lysa had married young and wealthy, but while one Miss Tully grew closer and closer to her husband, the other barely saw him. Jon Arryn had been around twice her age and a career politician. His early death had left her incredibly wealthy, with a son whom she doted on. The boy had grown up spoiled and peevish- although tended to be much improved if left with his cousins for any period of time. Despite the distinguished nature of the Stark family- older than her own- Mrs Arryn had nothing but disdain for them- born out of snobbery and jealousy. She especially disapproved of Miss Lyanna Stark-who had refused the invitation to dinner- although she had insisted Jon attend even without her. A curate to the local vicar, even Mrs Arryn could not object to him- although she avoided conversation with the young man all dinner. 

“Catelyn, you do not mean to say we shall sit with the men after dinner,”

“Lysa, my dear, it is the last time my family shall be all together for quite some time” Catelyn attempted to placate her sister, placing one hand on her arm. 

“But what of your girls? You cannot expect them to be gentile if you let them keeps such company” She answered shrilly, gesturing to the corner where Robb, Mr Greyjoy, Sansa and Arya sat loudly playing cards. The young people's chatter filled the room- while the two men smoked and drank- and Arya kept them company. 

Catelyn knew her sister well- “Besides, how else would you be able to keep an eye on Robin”. To this Lysa found she had a little comeback, and so demurred, although she remained a cloud of simmering rage in the room. Meanwhile, the young Mr Arryn sat watching the others play cards- and after a gesture from his cousins sat to join. Sansa pouted, protesting- “Now we have an odd number of players!” 

Jon Snow offered to join in the game- if that would help- eager to help the elder Miss Stark in her distress. She blushed deeply, unable to make eye contact with him- covering her own embarrassment she burst out  
“Why Mr. Snow! That would not help at all- you need 4 players for Whist. 6 is just as awkward as 5” 

Jon blushed and retreated. Scowling at her sister's casual cruelty, Arya quickly replied, “Well, you could always stop playing”

Mr Greyjoy, eager not to lose his attractive partner opened his mouth to prevent it when Robb simply laughed- “Well, we simply won’t play whist. Hand me the cards- and Jon, do sit. Robin- you do play Loo.” (he asked, as he knew the young man did not have much company other than his mother and did not wish to embarrass him. For all his preening and playing of dice he was at heart a kind boy). 

The evening, thus passed with much revelry- as soon Brandon joined the table. The departure of the Arryns- dear as Robin was to the family- was as much a relief as anything- and the group continued merrily into the night. As Mr Greyjoy was staying at Winterfell Hall, there was only Mr Snow to leave. They waved goodbye to him- as he set across the grounds to the cottage. Arya made him promise to visit even once Robb had moved, for despite their differences in temperament the two had always been firm friends.  
Jon promised to do, and shaking Sir Starks hand he headed off across the grounds. Robb and Mr Greyjoy retreated to drink and smoke for the evening, while the rest of the family headed to bed. 

Dressing for bed, Sansa confessed to her sister her guilt at trying to snap at Jon Stark. “I cannot help it, he looks so sheepish and awkward standing there, and Aunt Lysa put me in such a bad mood with her fussing”. Arya did not answer her sister, having little time for the defence of her behaviour. Unspoken between them was the history between the two. It had not been long ago that Jon would abandon even the company of Robb to sit in the library of Winterfell, reading poetry to Miss Sansa. Having endured months of raptures of how fine his brow was, and how kind and gentile he was, Arya had noticed the sudden change. Sansa had never spoken about what had caused the change between them- but Arya suspected her mother’s involvement. Jon, for all his intelligence and his respectable living as a curate and hopefully one day a reverend with his own parish- was no match for a daughter of the oldest family in the county. 

Bereft of her sister's approval Sansa simply continued her toilette- and trying to ignore the guilt she felt or the lingering image of those fine grey eyes- framed with thick dark lashes- giving her a look of reproach.


	2. In which an Acquaintance is made

On the departure from Winterfell, the family piled out into carriages. In the Brougham, emblazoned with the family arms rode Sir and Lady Stark, with their youngest Rickon- who was to be dropped off at boarding school on the journey south. Sansa sat with them- while Robb, Arya and Brandon rode in a phaeton with Mr Greyjoy. Catelyn had opposed to her daughter riding- not trusting Theon Greyjoy to ride carefully, but Arya had begged her to let them- and there was no more room with them. At first, Rickon had winged about not being allowed to ride with them- yet within half an hour of the journey, he was asleep. Sansa learnt back- with little interest in the countryside rushing by. She had lived in the country all her life- and now she was finally getting her wish. She read and re-read letters from Miss Baratheon, followed by a small book of poetry she had found that morning with her name written in it. She had no idea whom it was from- she supposed it was a surprise gift from her parents- or perhaps her aunt. It was beautifully bound, and the latest of Lord Byron's poems. There was something about his caddish scandal that both appalled and scintillated the young Miss Stark- although Catelyn certainly disapproved.

Sansa refused to acknowledge the obvious, that this pretty gift was not from her mother or aunt, but her erstwhile beau. She thought, perhaps, if she did not acknowledge this fact she would not have to face the slight thrill that seeing her name in Jon’s fine hand sent through her. If she truly was to forget the affection she bore him commonsense would tell her to leave the book behind. But despite having agreed to break off the connection and convincing herself it was nothing more than a girlish crush, she was loathed to leave a present from him behind.

After sending Rickon off- with a flood of tears from his mama, and deep embarrassment from the young teenager- they eventually arrived in London. They kept a permanent residence there, as Sir Eddard was an active member of parliament- and his longtime friend Sir Robert had made a career in the House of Lords and was well thought off among certain circles- as the friendliest politician in Westminster, even if he was a fool.  
The Stark townhouse was not far from the fashionable part of London- and Sansa insisted her brothers accompanied her on a walk along the streets she had read so long about- eager to see the sites of the city. Arya and Brandon completed the party- while Mr Greyjoy had gone to stay with his sister- the somewhat notorious Asha Greyjoy- whose personal fortune allowed her to keep as many lovers as she wished without the need for a husband. There were even rumours that she preferred the company of women- which had more than a little base in truth. The Greyjoy’s were an old family, but Lady Stark did despair of her son’s affection for young Theon.

The young Starks made a merry party- exploring first Hyde park- which Sansa proclaimed to be perfectly charming, and while she did not admit it, even Arya found to be nice enough- especially the boating races. They stopped to observe such a race- and the young men betting around the small sailing ships. Just a few paces away was a separate gaggle- this time mostly women, of those taking the opportunity to gossip while their husbands and brothers were busy. Arya gladly joined the male crowd around the boats- cheering on a practically built boat with black silk sails- which soon she proclaimed to be her favourite. Sansa accompanied her into the fray- favouring a boat with delicate red sails- which promptly sank. A loud groan accompanied the fate of the poor frigate and looking over, the owner of the boat was remarkably similar. As was the young woman who rushed from his side- catching sight of the young Miss Starks, the girl gave a small shriek and rushed towards them. It was Myrcella Baratheon- daughter of Ned’s oldest friend Sir Robert Baratheon, dressed in the finest pale pink muslin and holding her elegant bonnet in place and the other holding her equally fashionable parasol in her other hand.

Despite their differences in personality Arya and Myrcella had long been friends- and Miss Baratheon- having come out the previous season was a mine of information for the eldest Stark sister too. She was a becoming young lady, whose golden hair held a natural curl, and a naturally sunny disposition which lit up her cherubic round face. She was held by all to be exceedingly pretty and the three young ladies made a curious trio. They embraced and fell to animated discussion proclaiming how very long it had been, and how very much she had missed them. She beckoned over her companions, including the young gentleman Sansa had first recognised- Mr Joffrey Baratheon.

“Might I introduce Mr Gendry Waters”,

Myrcella gestured to the second of her companions. He was as dark-haired and broad as the Baratheon siblings were fair and slim, and gave an awkward stilted bow. Although his clothes were well made, they hung on him awkwardly and he wore them in such a way that he looked as if he were wearing borrowed clothes. Myrcella explained, hesitantly, that he was her father’s protege. The Miss Starks looked at him with curiosity, although it wasn’t a matter to speak of in a public park they knew from Miss Baratheon’s letters that the young Mr Waters was by all rights Mr Baratheon and her half brother. He was the result of Robert Baratheon’s little spoken of first marriage. First orphaned by his mother then abandoned by his father Gendry had grown up among poor relations- and his presence had caused something of a stir in town. Many people had completely forgotten Sir Robert’s first match completely, distracted by the glamour of his second marriage and the sheer force of personality of his Lannister heiress wife

Mr Joffrey Baratheon cast an ugly look at his taller half brother. Perfectly poised, he was dressed in the heights of fashion. He gave both Miss Starks a deep bow and spoke in the most perfectly well-mannered way that Sansa was instantly taken with him.

“Myrcella, you never told me your pen pals were so very fair". Before Arya could interject that it was not Sansa who was his sister's special friend he invited Sansa to join him watching the boat races

“It seems my luck today has been poor, but I am sure a woman as beautiful as yourself will be an excellent good luck charm” Sansa gladly accepted- joining the fashionable crowd by the lakes, and cheering on whichever boat Mr Baratheon laid his money on.

Arya and Myrcella continued to walk together, laughing as despite Sansa’s enthusiasm Joffrey seemed unable to pick the winning vessel. About half a step behind them, acting as a silent shadow, walked Mr Waters.  
Myrcella insisted, despite Arya’s protestations, that she be allowed to take her shopping- as she was sure that whatever provincial balls they had attended, none of their outfits would be suitable for London society. Finally she conceded, grateful to be accompanied by her friend and not just her sister- who was in Arya’s bad books for her behaviour as she giggled with Mr Baratheon. It was clear from the direction of the looks they snuck they were making that their jokes were at the expense of Mr Waters. Although he was a stranger to her Arya felt offended for him as Mr Waters kept resolutely ahead. The big oaf could easily take on his foppish brother, she could not help thinking disdainfully.

“Mr Waters,” she suddenly turned to address him “Forgive my sister’s rudeness” He simply nodded in acknowledgement- further infuriating her. She was trying desperately to include him- but he seemed determined to ignore them. Ignoring him she turned back to Myrcella, asking after the rest of her family.

Lady Cersei she had long disliked- and she was far from the only one. Born into the rich Lannister family, Lady Baratheon widely acknowledged as being exceptionally beautiful- even as a mother of three almost adult children. Myrcella and Joffrey’s fair hair came from their mother, as did their green eyes. But Cersei resembled her proud eldest son far more than her daughter- and although she was beautiful she was devoid of any of the warmth and compassion that made Myrcella so very lovely. Her husband Sir Robert Baratheon was increasingly an invalid and had all but retired from London life- choosing to live in his great red-brick mansion not far outside the city. Tommen, of age with Rickon, was at boarding school but enjoyed education far more than the youngest Stark, and Brandon, who joined the conversations after leaving Robb to settle his debts promised to send him the latest pamphlets. Although Cersei despised it Tommen shared his lawyer uncle Tyrion's passion for politics, and like the Starks was very interested in the Abolition and Reform movements.

Finally, Myrcella moved onto her other uncle- the dashing Lt. Col Jaime Lannister. Hearing his name Robb finally decided to join the group. The lieutenant colonel was already famous for his exploits in France and Spain and was something of an idol for Mr Stark and many other aspiring soldiers. Despite his wealth, he refused to buy high rank away from the battlefield. There was something noble and courageous about him that earned the respect of all- even those who saw the heir to a massive fortune as reckless to risk his life in such a manner. He was, at the moment, a decided bachelor- although Myrcella mentioned that she had heard he had a sweetheart but was yet to introduce her to the family. 

Joined by Sansa and Joffrey the groups finally departed, with a promise that Myrcella would join the Stark ladies shopping the next day, and that the whole family would dine together. Mr Greyjoy was also invited to make up the party and join the whole Baratheon family alongside the Tyrell’s- whose sons Robb had heard of as distinguished military men and was eager to meet. As they parted Arya noticed how Myrcella blushed at the attention her eldest brother paid her, kissing her hand by means of parting and complimenting how becoming her pale pink bonnet. She knew her friend well enough to see how her brother's actions had caused her to become coquettish. She also knew her brother well enough to know that he barely knew one style of bonnet from another, let alone know what was fashionable or not.

She resolved to question Robb on the matter- but arriving home to a whole host of excitements- including a brief visit from their Uncle Benjen- who had returned from his latest voyage of exploration with a host of exciting gifts and stories- the matter completely slipped her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gendry is not a bastard in this version but I will be referring to him as Mr Waters- which will be his mother's maiden name. I should be exploring this in later chapters. 
> 
> Also, no prizes for guessing who Jaime's sweetheart is..... my idea here is mostly Jaime doesn't like society and Brienne would face the exact same problems she describes searching for a match in Tarth as a regency lady- so she's not the biggest ball aficionado. This isn't their story- but just so your aware Brienne is very definitely living her best life somewhere as the heir to her father's fortune and dressing in breeches and big billowy shirts. 
> 
> I'm also trying to base my story in contemporary history with references to authors like Byron- and the Napoleonic war as I go on, but I'm far from an expert in this period. 
> 
> The comments so far have been so exciting-they really are encouraging. So if you want to leave one please do xx


	3. The Ball at Red Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they attend a ball. 
> 
> Introducing various new characters and relationships, and indulging my love of the ball scenes in regency dramas. (this is unlikely to be the only ball in this series.

The Ball at the Red Hall-as the Baratheon’s home was known came quickly. It was a grand affair- and went from being an invite open to only a few to half of London. Mrs Baratheon, for all her faults, was an excellent hostess, Sir Stark- although he was loath to admit it, was shocked to see quite how sick his friend was. Sir Robert had been a handsome man in his youth, but years of heavy drinking and eating had left him fat with an unhealthy tinge to his skin. His left leg was swollen from an old injury and apart from standing to announce the dancing was to begin he remained sat at the head of the Hall all evening. Still, he drank and made merry, chatting to Ned and his eldest of his brothers- Captain Stannis Baratheon- a navy man. He was far more serious than Robert had ever been, but there was a degree of fondness between the two in their friendly banter. Renly, the youngest of the brothers- briefly joined the conversation- before going to join the other militiamen- including his especially friend- a Mr Loras Tyrell. 

Despite the obvious rift between him and his sister, Mr Tyrion Lannister also joined the party of men- as riotous as Sir Robert and as politically passionate as Sir Stark. Ned broke from his party only to dance a set with his wife- which all viewed with pleasure. It was proclaimed they were still one of the most affectionate couples in England, even after years of marriage. Even more praised was Sansa Stark. 

Her red hair shone in the candlelight, and she was fleet of foot- and within minutes of arrival, her book was filled with requests from partners. It was whispered among those attending that if it were proper she would have danced the whole evening with Mr Joffrey- as they partnered two sets, and apart from one with his sister- he danced with no one else the whole evening. In one of the rare rests of the evening- Sansa returned to her sister- who happily sat by the side of the floor. She danced with both her brothers- and at that point was quite content to remain alone. Myrcella was dancing with Robb- and all remarked they made a particularly handsome couple- especially in his new army uniform. 

As well as the party of militiamen there was another group at the ball- strangers to the Stark girls. Two young women, and a young man who sat with his cane by the side of the chair. The youngest of the two women had light chestnut hair- and received constant attention from the men of the ball. Her companion- though not much older- had a tired look about her.

They mused allowed who they might be. They heard a quiet cough from the side. Miss Shireen Baratheon had sat quietly in the shadows for much of the ball. She was a sweet girl and had a pleasing figure and quick mind, but she had no desire to face the mix of pity and disgust in people’s glance at her scars- the marks of a childhood illness. 

“Shireen” Arya exclaimed, guilty that she had not noticed the girls presence before. “Those are the Tyrells” Shireen explained quietly- “Captain Willas Tyrell, late of the army in France until he was wounded, his sister-in-law Leonette and sister Margaery. They have a brother too- Loras- he is amongst the militiamen and is particularly close to Uncle” she gestured to Renly. 

Curious Sansa inquired what kind of people they were “Wealthy enough, and ambitious. Leonette is from the Fossoway family- an old gentry family, although nowhere near as rich as the Tyrells. Her husband is away at war still, but they have a young child and I believe it is a good marriage, if not stressful. Willas I know little of- he is around six and twenty and we have had little reason to talk. Margaery is only a little older than you though Sansa and is expected to be the talk of the town this season. For all her beauty and wealth she is remarkably kind though” the young girl coloured in embarrassment, and tearing her eyes away from the curious group of newcomers. 

“You must sit with us” Sansa insisted. “Are you sure?” 

“Of course” Arya replied, fiercely. She knew all too well what it was like to stick out at such gatherings- but at least it was by her own choice and disdain. It was all too clear that Shireen longed to join the festivities- if someone only asked her. She sat between them and Sansa took her hand warmly. “I promise I will not dance another set, unless you also have a partner” 

“I would make the same promise, but I don't intend to dance again at all. Unless someone new and exciting joins” Arya added wryly 

“Such as who?” Shireen asked

“Oh, a pirate or a highwayman or someone else who could whisk me away from such a boring party” Arya responded, grinning cheekily. 

“Arya!” Sansa scolded, as much out of affection than anything else. Shireen’s eyes danced at mirth at the bickering between the two. She and Arya exchanged a look, and Arya made an exaggerated eye roll and then mimicked Sansa’s demure position- batting her eyes and waving her fan about a mile a minute. Shireen soon burst out into peals of giggles, which Arya and then even Sansa herself, soon joined

From across the room, Joffrey gave the group a startled look- unused to seeing society girls acting in such a manner- but his look of shock only sent them into further peals of rapture. 

Intrigued, Brandon walked to join his sisters- “What is so amusing?” He was a slim, boy dark-haired and owlish. Arya simply burst into another round of giggles at his confusion, but Sansa noticed that Shireen fell suddenly quiet. 

“Bran, you must remember Shireen” he bowed to the now blushing girl. “We were just wishing for someone to add some excitement to the party.”

“We are in search of some sort of meaning in this gathering” Shireen added 

“Are we not all in search of meaning” Bran quipped back 

“If we are to be considered men.” she replied, “that is, according to Plato” 

“You read Plato!?” 

“No need to sound so surprised” Arya replied drolly

“Well, with such philistines for sisters as you two…” he trailed off. 

“If we were not in polite company I’d punch you for that” Arya replied- mock offended 

“And I wouldn’t stop her” Sansa added pertly. 

“Well, Miss Baratheon, it seems I must look to you for rescue” Bran turned back to Shireen- now grinning broadly at the family's antics. “Will you dance a set with me at least? Perhaps we could talk more of Plato” 

Suddenly Shireen found her slippers remarkably interesting- until Sansa gave her a nudge and a supportive smile- “Well,” she ventured “I will admit I find far more interest in the stoic school than in Platoist thought, but if I must”

She took Bran’s offered hand and made her way to the dancefloor. Justified that the younger girl was now far happier, Sansa felt free to take her next engagement- a dashing young militiaman. There was quite a number of them at the gathering, whilst Robb and Theon stood separate in their new field uniforms- scowling at them. It mattered little to Sansa if they were in active service or not, although she knew from long talks with her brother and father about politics the issue of militiamen. Jon especially had reminded her that as glamorous as they may appear in their smart uniforms, that they were a burden on those who had least - having little obligation to pay debts to anyone other than their fellow officers. Although she may enjoy dancing and flirting with them, she was not quite foolish enough to ever marry one of them. 

Whilst she danced she also felt, with a sense of satisfaction, that young Mr Baratheon's eyes followed her and not his own pretty partner. 

Arya- satisfied that she had done her bit for the night- made her excuses- claiming she wished to retire to bed (as they had arranged to stay in one of the many guest suites) and finally escaped into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in publishing this chapter. I'm still on summer from uni so am balancing time between seeing friends, work and this had kind of been left at the wayside 
> 
> Hopefully, I'll be able to pick up writing again soon. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and please do correct me on anything (esp as I lack a beta rn) any other feedback is also always welcome!!


	4. In which a meeting occurs and an agreement is made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back at uni, but should still be trying to update, if less frequently. The pace of this one is a tad different- but let me know if you enjoy it or not? or anything else- i'm always chuffed to get a comment.

The grounds of the Red Hall were vast, and for the first time since coming to London Arya was in the true dark. As much as the glow of the streetlamps seemed reassuring during late-night carriage rides homes, she had missed the true darkness. She struggled to sleep in the permanent semi-light of London and had always had a knack for making her way in the dark.  
The night air was cooler and lit her senses on fire. In the dark, the texture of the paving beneath her feet, the smell of the herbs planted in the border, the sound of the rustling leaves and hooting owl in the distance all lept out at her. Years of sneaking out of bed to go and visit the stables or hang out with her brother had taught her how to navigate her way- even in strange places. Oddly enough the years of dance training her sister had enjoyed and she had endured had taught her the lightness of foot needed to sneak around silently and undetected. 

Using snuck away from the ballroom, through the ornamental fountains and formal gardens. Although she could not make them out clearly in the low light she recalled that in the day these gardens had struck her as particularly lifeless. In a way, they reminded her of Lady Baratheon- who no doubt was the one who had chosen their design. They were beautiful, a symbol of status but without any hint of wildness to them. Arya’s goal was a hidden groove she had spotted on the carriage ride through the grounds to the house. She supposed she could have waited till morning to explore- but she knew that by then a whole party would be put together, and she would have to wait for the slow walkers and be burdened with chatter and gossip. 

The paving under her slim slippers turned to gravel, and then to a wooden chip path. The damp of the evening dew seeped through her thin dance shoes - while the back of her dress trailed in the dirt behind her. Finally, she came to the spot she had been seeking- a clearing in the woods that ringed the property. In the centre of this clearing was what looked like the bones of an old house or cottage- now just a few old walls. The sceptic in her expected that this was probably a fake ruin- designed as part of the fashion for purposefully rustic design. But there was something charming about the clearing, lit only by the stars and the full moon. Through the gaps in the leaves she could make out a clear night sky- and was able to find familiar constellations she had missed since leaving Winterfell. Even here- however- away from the main city- the stars seemed duller than they were there, their beauty eclipsed by the artificial pomp of society world. 

She leapt up onto the wall- idly walking along the rough surface. She had always had good balance and wanted to ensure she didn’t lose her catlike ability to always land on her feet while staying in the city. Then a loud snap of a twig caught her attention. She whipped her head around- carefully keeping her balance, only to see a dark figure hulking out of the shadow. She shuffled- back rueing her precarious position now but ready to protect herself. As she moved she dislodged a small stone and it landed in the water of the creek with a small plop. 

“Aah,” The figure screamed. For the first time, Arya was thrown completely - and moving her foot back, she got caught in her train- landing to the ground with an undignified thump. Worse still-she was now sat half in the creek-and water seeped through the fine muslin of her dress. She swore. 

“Who on earth are you?” a somewhat familiar voice shouted. Suddenly the figure came into view, carrying a small lantern. The sight of the familiar face eased the pounding of Arya’s heart. “Miss Stark” Gendry Waters gasped. 

“Yes,” she replied with venom, glaring up at him. It would have been a comical sight if it wasn’t so bizarre. Remembering his manners he offered her a hand. She continued to glare at him and got up by herself. Her fine dress was ruined, that he could tell even in this light.  
“What on earth are you doing out here?” he asked  
“I could ask you the same question” She replied, crossing her arms and looking up at him sternly  
“I live here”- he replied quickly, stressing that she, on the other hand, did not. Suddenly aware of the ridiculousness of the situation she cracked something of a grin  
“‘Spose you’re right. Since you live here I don’t suppose you can find a way to sneak me back in?”  
Gendry opened his mouth- questioning why that hadn’t been part of her original plan- but he could sense that resistance is useless. Instead, he simply replied by wrapping his jacket around his shoulders- which were now shaking from the damp in the cold night air and giving her his arm. 

They made their way through the undergrowth, in silence initially, but as they walked Arya’s curiosity about her companion grew. She reckoned that despite the bizarre nature of the situation, that this was the most they had talked. As the moon and the light from the lantern lit his face she could see that he was far from unhandsome. It was only next to his delicately featured half-siblings that he seemed so roughly hewn- yet here, now she could make out every delicate eyelash, the light flecks in his eyes- so piercingly blue in the daylight. 

“So Mr Waters,” she began, “ Why aren’t you at the ball?” He gave a hollow laugh 

“Why would I be?” Silence filled the space between them once more until he sighed, continuing “They don’t want me there- they never have. Lady Baratheon especially. Why do you think everyone here calls me Mr Waters? I’m Mr Baratheon by all rights, my mother was married to Sir Robert as legitimately as Lady Cersei is now- she just doesn’t want to admit it.” 

“You look far more like him than any of them” Arya added softly. Gendry looked down on that face, bathed in moonlight and the approaching glow of the house. It lit up her button nose- the determined slant of her brow and the long lashes on those dark fierce eyes. He suddenly thought in that moment, how long it had been to have someone look at him with such affection. 

They approached a small wooden door- which a young girl in a maids cap opened for them. She said nothing, merely raising an eyebrow to Gendry. Then catching sight of his companion the girl added, “Miss Stark!”- it was a question as much as a greeting.  
“I’ll explain later” Gendry replied. Once they had got out of earshot Arya asked  
“How do you know…?  
“Look at my hands Miss Stark” He lifted his hands to the light- getting into full stride now and leaving Arya almost trotting to keep up.  
“My mother’s family wasn’t just obscure- they were poor. Genuinely poor. My mother made a good match- her father had done well for himself. He was dead by the time I was born- a year or so into my parent’s marriage. I was only two when she died, three when he remarried. Part of the Lannister contract” and he spoke this with true anger and bile “was that I was sent to my mother’s family. That I wasn’t to be bought up with her children. So I was brought up by my mother’s uncle. He trained me to be a blacksmith. I was trained in how to shoe horses. Some of these barely know how to ride a horse. They just sit behind them in their carriages. And I’m the fool because I can’t dance, or eat course after course after course…” he trailed off exasperated. 

A long moment of silence passed between them. Mr Waters outburst had been entirely unexpected, and for once Arya felt at a loss for words. She wished, almost, she had Sansa’s gift with pretty words, but she also did not wish to simply brush off this genuine anguish with platitudes. 

“I will confess I know a little of what you feel, I have never loved society, but I had not even begun to imagine how alien this must be for you”. She placed a hand on his arm, gently. 

“ I do, however, have the advantage of a full society upbringing, a doting family and siblings that are more than willing to deflect attention” She smiled fondly, thinking especially of Sansa and Robb’s love of the limelight. “If you wish, I could share those advantages with you?” 

Gendry looked confused at this half-formed proposal. Tripping over her words lightly, Arya expanded on the idea “I can help teach you how to dance, and how to dress. What to say and what not to say. And if you ever feel alone or alien this season, come to me and mine and we will happily shelter you from any gossipers. I’ll make it a bargain- I’ll help make you a gentleman, and bat off any fortune hunters from you- if you do the same for me. Dance with me at balls, and pay me just enough attention to avoid any young society gentlemen. They are so very dull”. Venturing a smile- Arya looked the older, taller man in the eye 

“They may have manners and breeding, but in the last half an hour I have found you far more interesting and intelligent than in a lifetime of knowing Joffrey’s.” 

Gendry responded with a smile in kind, giving a mock bow “Then, m’lady, I will have to accept”. He bent low kissing her hand. She giggled, replying in the same mock serious tone “Arise, sirrah, for you shall be my new apprentice.”  
She looked down at her ruined dress, conscious of the tendrils of hair that had sprung for her elaborate hairstyle and the twigs that no doubt adorned it. “Not that I look to be able to to give anyone lessons on how to ladylike at the moment.” 

Although he didn’t say it, Mr Waters thought how much more charming she was this way- natural and laughing rather than trussed up in frou frou. “I’ll ask my friends to get it cleaned quickly for you. No one need ever know”

Relieved she would avoid her mother's inevitable censure and lecture about behaviour- likely followed by a second from Sansa and a third from their old nanny- Mrs Mordane- Arya flew at him, giving him a hug. Shocked by the spontaneous affection Gendry didn’t know quite how to respond, but awkwardly patted her back. The two sprung apart quickly. Gendry still looked aghast, and arya could not help but laugh at his worry. 

“I’ll take that as a yes” Gendry replied wryly, to which he received only a hmmm reply. 

They parted, with a repeat of their promises, at the door to the wing the Starks had taken. Arya closed the door smartly, only to be stopped a few steps down the corridor. She was hit with the sudden enormity of the promise she had made, and her familiarity with this man, who before today was a practical stranger. And yet, thronging into her mind came thoughts, of how very tall he was, and how comfortable those arms had been in hers. The memory of the warmth of his body, the crinkle of eyes as he laughed, the sight and feel of his large muscles under his shirt during their brief embrace.

Her musings were stopped by an awkward cough behind her. Gendry stood there still. “Miss Stark, If you wish me to get that dress cleaned by morning- I will have to take it” Arya had never been the blushing kind, but at this, she blushed deeply. 

“Wait outside” she instructed him- diving quickly into her room and wiggling out of the laces of her dress. Looking at the gown she could see the full extent of the damage- water-laden and mud-spattered- the fine muslin torn in a few places. For a second she debated throwing her dressing gown over her underpinnings- then realised with a groan that she had tossed it off in Myrcella’s room when it had got in the way of their preparations for this evening. It was fine, she told herself- her brothers had seen her in her petticoats often enough- as had Theon. Despite the logical arguments of her head- her stomach was still in knots. Determined to hide this- she strode out brazenly, handing over a crumpled pile of muslin and linen. “I’ll be amazed if your friend can save it”  
Staring down at this figure- in her stays and petticoat, hands firmly on her narrow hips, and eyes blazing- Gendry was struck with a sudden wave of affection for this hellcat. For a moment he could not help but appreciate her slight curves and pout of her scowling lips. His eyes widened- aware for the first time of the potential scandal of the image they formed and simply snatched the dress, mumbling his goodnights as he rushed away, confused and bewildered by this strange young noblewoman.


	5. Blossoming friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry grows closer to the Starks, while they prepare for Robb's departure.

The next morning Arya awoke to find her dress folded over the chair. The main rents had been neatly sewn closed and the mud was gone. It would never be as fine as it was- but she had to admit it was still in better condition than most of her ballgowns. Sansa questioned her at first about where she had disappeared to last night, but Arya barely had time to mumble an answer before Sansa broke in again, gushing about how wonderful her evening had been. 

“.... Mr Joffrey looked so handsome last night, did he not? And even Miss Tyrell admitted that I was the most admired of the evening. Oh! She is such a very elegant woman. All her dresses are in the a la Parisienne and her darling curls are most becoming. I have the feeling we shall become bosom friends. And she is not the slightest bit jealous of Mr Joffrey’s attraction to me, she said she expected that he would propose by the end of the season. Oh! Arya imagine! Me living in London, the wife of such a fine gentleman! Making housecalls as Mrs Joffrey Baratheon and one day as Lady Baratheon!” 

“But isn’t Gendry the eldest?” Arya interjected. Sansa scowled- she had not thought of Mr Waters as being part of the family before.

“But surely?” she raised an eyebrow at the idea of him as Lord Baratheon 

From the other end of the table Ned admonished her “Your sister is right. Gendry is Robert’s heir, legally”   
“Not if Lady Lannister has her way” his wife sniffed. 

“Papa” Arya asked, her voice suddenly sweet. “On the subject of Mr Waters, I noticed last night that he seems quite friendless here. Do you think we could invite him for a drive with us, or cards some evening?”

Ned beamed at his youngest daughter, “Of course, my dear”. Just arriving from their rooms, and a tad hung over, Robb and Theon also heard the idea, and agreed heartily, as they already liked the blunt young man, far more than his dandy brother. 

Thus, Gendry became a permanent fixture in the household. He was happy to accompany Arya on any of her trips to the parks and to the races, and he soon endeared himself to Sansa too, more than happy to carry her boxes of shopping or listen to her muse about what to have her latest bonnet trimmed with. 

As much as he helped them, the Stark’s found a new joy in teaching him. Sansa and Robb happily joined Arya’s scheme to improve him as a dancer. As Arya put it- if Robb, who has not an ounce of rhythm can dance passingly well- then so could he. Sansa knew all the latest steps and flourishes, but it was Arya who amazed him the most. 

He watched with awe as she tripped and wove her way around the often empty rooms of the Stark house- dancing either to her sister’s playing or sometimes to a tune only she could hear. There was something almost supernatural about her figure- pale and spectral- leaping and whirling in the half light of the ballroom- still covered in dust sheets and lit only by the dull London sun. 

Gendry also found himself dragged into the Stark library- both by Sansa and by Bran. While one recommended the latest in poetry and books that “one ought to have read”, the other supplied him with pamphlets and leaflets on politics and philosophy. 

Now able to partake in dinner party conversation, Gendry found himself growing closer to his cousin Shireen who was just as happy to share her knowledge with him. He had a raw passion for the world- and a level of experience that went beyond the protected world that she had grown up in. 

Soon they would talk for hours- sat in the library of the Red Hall- unused now that Tommen had returned to school. 

To his amusement, conversation often drifted to the time he spent with the Starks 

“Do you know, out of interest, how Sir Stark tends to vote. I know he was in the house for the Abolition Act.” Shireen asked. 

“I can’t imagine he missed a single sitting of it, the whole family is firmly against the Trade. 

“Brandon as well?” she quickly added, before blushing at her eagerness both to hear of young Brandon Stark, but also to see if his views aligned with her own. 

“Of course, I believe he aims to follow his father into politics, although he has professed an interest in Uncle's work”- by this of course he meant Tyrion Lannister. He was something of the back sheep of the family, as while his father owned plantations he took great pleasure in prosecuting them, and campaigning for harsher laws. Whether his passion was purely moral could be called into question, and it was said by some that if his father supported reform,he would be just as vigorously against it. While this was not quite true, he did often claim that his difficult childhood had given him a sympathy for all those broken by society. 

Tyrion, although not technically their uncle was already fond of both Gendry and Shireen, and often sent them latest pamphlets from his work both in England and abroad in America. He was pleased to find the young man’s atttiude towards society softened, and enjoyed his gentile and solid presence as part of the circuit of dances and balls. 

Before long, with Arya’s coaxing, Robb’s encouragment and Bran’s books the young Mr Waters was becoming highly sought after as a partner at balls. It helped, of course, that Sansa soon knew all the right people to talk to. She sung the young man’s praises with such artless provincial naivite that it was eaten straight up.   
Her increasingly close friend Margaery had even admitted that on hearing that Gendry, not Joffrey was the true baratheon heir, her family had encouraged her to pursue him too- although Joffrey’s Baratheon name and Lannister connection still made him highly desireable. 

As much as she cared for her friend Sansa doubted she'd make a good match for Mr Waters, and she couldn’t help but notice that no matter how many girls simpered and flirted with him, Gendry always had a dance spare for Arya- often her only dance not with one of her own brothers.   
It seemed to her that they were creating quite a neat little set, she as partner to Joffrey, Arya as partner to Gendry, and Robb as partner to Myrcella. Sometimes he would even abandon Mr. Greyjoy during outings and carriage trips in order to sit next to her, and as they rode back in their carriages from a particularly pleasant evening at the opera- she couldn’t help noticing that they could make quite a handsome couple. She rested her pretty blonde curls on his shoulder, and talked animatedly while her brother listened with a fond smile on his face. He leaned closer to her and said something to her that made her pull out her fan and hide her face, no doubt blushing. Sansa listened forward to try and hear what was said, but she could not over the traffic. Impatiently she waited until they reached the Baratheon residence, Joffrey and Myrcella left, the former bowing deeply to Sansa and waving impatiently for the little trap to be pulled away. 

“Well?” Sansa climbed up next to Robb in the phaeton- not waiting for him to offer a hand up. The rest of the Baratheon party had returned indoors- with the exception of Gendry, who stood animatedly talking to Arya, and was to drive her home, before returning back to the family residence. 

“Well what?” Robb looked at her- eyebrow raised in a look of genuine confusion. 

Sansa simply rolled her eyes at her brother's obliviousness. But as they rode along down the cobbled streets, she was struck by her recollections of the last weeks. It had seemed that every time she had turned around her Myrcella and her brother had been close. As they slowed down, approaching their road she finally asked. 

“You and Myrcella, do you not intend on asking her to wait for you? If not asking for her hand properly?”

The carriage began to swerve as Robb lost focus. “What!!” 

“You have danced with her at every event we have been to? You were whispering to her throughout the opera tonight, and I saw that flower in her hair when we went walking. It was not there when we arrived at the park. I didn’t see you give it to her, but I’m not an idiot” 

Robb coloured even further- though thankfully slowing the phaeton down, staring bashfully at the reins in his hands. “I…...I”  
He couldn’t deny it, at the time his sisters seemed entirely too distracted to notice. Theon, Arya and Gendry had been by the lake and Joffrey and Sansa had been too busy staring into each other's eyes. Myrcella was pretty and sweet, and he thought she was charming and easy to spend time with. But she was not his sweetheart, and marriage was far too serious. He was going off to war soon, he was allowed to have a little fun, or so he had thought. 

Finally he mumbled out “I didn't realise it seemed that serious” 

“Robb, my love, do you know what you have to do?”  
It was less of a question than an order. Sansa’s blue eyes turned steely. For all her delicacy, her carefully piled and curled red hair, pale frothy blue dress, he had a feeling that even his commanders in the army would be afraid of her glare. 

“Yes,” he answered sheepishly. Sansa snorted softly. “You know,” she said getting out of the phaeton and giving her brother a curious look   
“I really did not expect you to lead a girl on like that. I thought you’d know better” 

Robb just sat there, unable to answer, and filled with shame as what he thought had been a harmless flirtation came to the cruel light of day and the harsh standards of the world around him.


	6. The Boys depart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb and Theon have gone off to war, waved off by Lord Stark, Arya, Brandon and a visiting Jon, leaving Sansa and Catelyn alone and bored in London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it's been quite a while. But quarantine has given me some spare time and hopefully, I'll be able to pick up doing some more writing. I promise I do have a plot for this planned out, although I may make some tweaks along the way.   
I still love this regency concept and the thought of all the ladies in bonnets.

It seemed there was little chance for Robb to talk to Myrcella in the following weeks, as the family prepared for him to go be stationed- having finally received his orders. Now his military uniform- that of a petty officer at the academy- would go from being worn at balls to being worn in the mess, the army camp, the battlefield. 

The family had never really discussed the nature of Robb’s decision to join the army. At the time he had decided to join the officer's college instead of going to university it seemed a far more sensible option. While a smart boy, his school days had been filled with chaos and the idea of him wild at university was enough to give even Catelyn Stark- an eminently sensible mother- a fit of the vapors. 

That was very different from the idea of him going to war of course, and in the last week before Robb’s departure- an odd sense of dread crept over the house. They still went to see plays, they still listened to Mr. Stark and Brandon debating politics over the dinner table. Theon Greyjoy was as much as a staple part of the house as ever. And yet these two boys, who had been the pride and joy of the house for so long were going away- all the way to Spain to fight the distant Napoleon- who up until now had seemed little more than a bogeyman, someone to debate in the houses of Parliament or to read about in the newspapers. 

For their send off cousin Jon came down. He was of an age with Robb and Theon, and for a long time had made up their trio before they had gone their separate ways in study. He had long been the steadying influence in the rag tag group of boys and their wild adventures. He brought presents from those at homes- socks knitted by Aunt Lyanna to keep them warm (with an accompanying letter that Spain might get colder than they expect), a set of silver spurs from the Cassels, and a small hip flask engraved with their new ranks and regiments from the Pooles. 

Miss Lyanna had chosen not to join her son, and sent her love in copious letters to them all. She had little love of London society, and was loath to enter its insipid gossip once more. 

Soon enough the final night came, the young men to join their respective ranks the next day- Robb as a ensign of the 7th regiment of Dragoons or Queen’s own Hussars, and Theon travelling down with him before boarding his new ship, a 74 gunner called the Valiant. Arya insisted on joining the boys and Ned for the journey to Portsmouth and their respective ships. Lady Stark stayed at home, unwilling to embarrass her son with her weeping. Sansa stayed with her keeping her company, as she busied herself around the house, trying desperately to distract herself.   
Her mother constantly reordered trinkets, moving them around and then back to where they sat before.   
"Mother, please" Sansa begged her "reorganising the china won't keep Robb any safer. He'll be perfectly fine, he's only sailing to his camp at the moment and I'm sure he will write soon." 

She moves the items with more and more force  
"this" stamp "has nothing" stamp "to do with Robb"   
She brushed a few strands of her usually pristine hair from her face. 

“Well,” her daughter added diplomatically, “even if this has nothing to do with Robb, perhaps we should go and call on some friends. The Tyrells are always a jolly bunch?” she offered hopefully. Truthfully she would much rather be with Margaery than be at home still when Jon arrived. She couldn’t stand the reproach in those dark eyes. 

Catelyn agreed, and called the carriage. Sansa hastily redressed, donning a new pale blue pelise. She debated between a dragonfly pin and a wolf brooch to clasp on the front, before choosing the dragonfly. It was more suited for the summer weather they were having. She donned a new bonnet, which she had trimmed with fresh satin ribbons and feathers to match the new pelise- which she had decided was her new favourite. 

Before calling in the Tyrell’s townhouse, Catelyn insisted they call on the Arryn’s. Sansa busied herself with playing with her cousin, who was amusing enough, though still very much young for his age. His brief time at school had been ended quickly by his mama, who thought they were far too harsh on him, and that his delicate nature could not take it. Sansa privately thought that some time in school would have done him good, and got him away from his overly doting mother. She wished for his sake that his father had not died, and could instill some character into the moping boy. 

While they were there Mr Baelish visited. He swaggered in, long stick in hand, kissing the hands of the Tully sisters. While he lingered far longer while greeting Catelyn, it was Lysa his attention sent into a tizzy. She began to fan herself violently, and smiled overly much at almost everything that he said, even though he talked only of stocks and shares. Although she tried not to judge him too much as a ‘new money’ businessman, or for being too ‘shoppy’ as she had heard Cersei call him, he did seem to think that his business was as fascinating to everyone else as it was to him. Catelyn listened patiently, Sansa impatiently, but Lysa seemed determined to ask questions on every single point. 

Little Robyn scowled at the man. Beckoning his older cousin to the side, they gossiped by the piano. 

“Mr Baelish visits more days than not,” he sighed, suddenly seeming older than he usually did.   
"He's trying to convince Mama to send me back to school," he said the word with eminent distaste.   
He spoke in a low voice with a look of spite in Mr. Baelish's direction.   
"Do you think…?" Sansa implied. 

"Yes" Robyn replied curtly, grumpily plinking various keys on the piano in his annoyance at his home life. 

Back in the carriage on the way to the Tyrells, Sansa intoned to her mother what she had heard from Robyn. Catelyn sighed deeply, staring out the window and thinking deeply. 

"Lysa was always a romantic at heart, and while she grew fond of Mr. Arryn it was no love Match. Mr Baelish used to live in the village close to the Riverrun Estate. His father was an ambitious man and it seems his son has taken after him. Still my darling, I must admit I'm surprised he chose Lysa."

Catelyn blushed deeply, "before your father, of course, many considered Petyr to be my suitor."

She grasped her daughter's hand, brow furrowed "I am worried, my darling, that he is taking her for a ride. Lysa is so dear to me, but she can be a fool at times. I fear Baelish is after her for her money and the control of Robyns estate, rather than any genuine affection. I know you are not the most fond of your cousin, but promise me Sansa, you will do your best to help me protect her. "

"Of course, mama" Sansa said fondly, pecking a gentle kiss on her mother's cheek. 

The carriage rattled along the London streets before stopping in front of the Tyrell's fashionable town house. It was a tall building, and incredibly elegant. The first to greet her was Margaery, her mother she explained was away receiving the vapours. Mrs Tyrell was a kindly woman but Sansa always felt that even her daughter considered her rather silly. A new surprise figure has joined the house. Olenna Tyrell bustled into the drawing room. 

"who might these two be then?" she snapped eyeing the two ladies over her slight pince nez. 

“Grandmama, these are Lady Stark and Miss Stark.”

She nodded curtly to both of them, as a means of greeting, before setting herself up in the state in the grand armchair in the corner of the room. She called for tea, and it was soon brought in by a terrorised maid who seemed to duck out of the way as soon as she could away from the old Lady. The others sat around the small table. Margaery poured tea for all of them, and sat next to Sansa, quickly chatting to her friend. They were to have a ball at their great house in a few months, and Mr Tyrell had invited Sansa and her family to stay in the house as guests. She would be able to introduce them to the rest of her siblings, and to all of her neighbours. From the dishy but slightly dumb son of a local squire - Dickon Tarly- to Lady Oakheart, an old widow whose only interest seemed to be talking about the careers of her own mediocre son. 

Sansa took a small patisserie, delighting in its delicate nature and pale pastel colours. She found the miniature nature utterly charming, although she knew, had her sister been there, she would have grumbled at the limited serving.   
Meanwhile Lady Stark tried to make contact with Olenna  
“This is a charming town house the family have,”   
Olenna sniffed,   
“My fool of a son got lucky more than anything, he almost bought a place with the lowest of ceilings because he liked the views.” she sniffed again, at her son’s apparent foolishness, “even still this place is hardly in the best spot, it is not close to either his gentleman’s clubs or any of the major ballrooms- the latter is especially a problem, the girls arrive all cold and they lose any sort of glow or vitality. It’s almost like he doesn’t want them to marry well.” 

Catelyn kept her view that Margaery was likely to marry well, no matter how cold she was, to herself. 

“Do you have any intentions in the way of marriage?” she asked, trying to make casual conversation.   
“Well one of the fools has already gone and married, to a girl who is very pretty I grant but has as little brains as her husband. Loras won’t marry, and I don’t intend to make him, there are some very rich men that he can become friends with,” she put a strong emphasis on ‘friends’  
“He has no political brains himself, but you know what politicians are like…” she finished knowingly 

Catelyn replied stiffly, “My husband is a politician,”   
Margaery interjected, “Grandmama, you are scandalising the poor Lady!”  
“Pssh, if she can’t handle a little scandal then I can’t see what she is doing around the Houses. Willas won’t make much of a match I fear,” she said brushing aside her grandson’s disability as if it were nothing, “but still he is the heir, and I’d like to see him with a sensible wife at the very least,” 

“Oh Willas deserves all the good things in the world!” Margaery interjected, coming to her brother’s defence, “He is such a dear, and would make such a kind and patient husband. Sansa, darling, if thing’s don’t work out with Mr Lannister, I think you would enjoy his company” She spoke as if she had just struck on the idea, but then went on to describe her eldest brother in great detail. 

Olenna continued to Catelyn, “And then there is Margaery, she’s the only one out of the whole brood who has any potential. How I managed to have such idiots I don’t understand. How about yours?” she added the last bit more out of politeness than any real interest. 

Catelyn got the message, “They are a fine group, but they have their faults like all children.” She smiled tightly and got up to walk around the room and avoid further conversation with the old lady.   
She stared out of the window and wondered if Robb has been dropped off at the barracks left, had he bordered his ship? Would he be travelling with his fellow officers, and what were they like? He had told all sorts of tales about his time at the training academy and she feared her son would be led into the gambling and drinking all soldiers are famous for. 

While she was thinking Sansa and Margaery had got onto the topic of Lysa Arryn. 

“Oh, Marg, you should have seen her around Mr Baelish.” She put on an affected voice, “Oh, tell me all about your stocks and shares,” Margaery broke out into a peal of giggles, encouraging Sansa, “Oh! What’s that, you think I should send my son away, but then I’ll be all alone, and who will comfort be,” she batted her eyelashes ferociously before bursting into laughter herself.   
“Oh she is such a silly old woman. She’d be ridiculous at 20, but she is even worse at almost 40.”

“Isn’t that Mr Baelish terribly beneath her though,” Margaery pointed out, encouraging her friend's ribaldry. “He’s so terribly shoppy.” Sansa nodded seriously   
“Oh! Can you imagine aunt Lysa working for him behind the shop counter in her heavy powder and overly tight lacing” The thought sent her into a fresh peal of giggles.  
“Lady Lysa Arryn, the shopkeeper's wife.” Margaery proposed.   
“Oh don’t! It’s really too funny,” 

The small party of Stark’s soon bid their goodbyes, and promised to meet at the theater on Friday. Sansa adored the charm of the brand new Theatre Royal, and it was rumoured the Lord Byron would be there himself, and she thrilled at the thought of the sight of the infamous poet.

On the journey home, Catelyn turned to her daughter, “I am disappointed with you, my dear”  
“Oh mama, what can I have possibly done?” she said vaguely, adjusting her bonnet in the reflection of a shop window.   
“I asked you to help me protect your aunt, and you go mocking her to the first person you meet. It was cruel and badly done Sansa,”

Sansa was taken aback at this unusual criticism of from her mother, and replied in a very small voice, “It was only Margaery, and it was all in jest,”

“If you do not think Olenna Tyrell was listening to what you said, then you are as much of a fool as Arya thinks you are,” Catelyn snapped, and then sighed, “with your brother gone, I need you to set a good example for the others, and I need to know that I can rely on you,” 

Still smarting, Sansa nodded, inwardly annoyed at the injustice of it all.   
They arrived back to a quiet home, and a small supper. Sansa excused herself, going to bed early, leaving her mother to spend a sleepless night, impatiently waiting for the dawn to arrive, and bring at least most of her children back to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's new pelise, in my head is a finished version of the one we see Emma be fitted for in the new 2020 movie (which I adore btw)  
http://www.frockflicks.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/2020-Emma-pelisse2.png
> 
> Any criticisms or any comments are very welcome!


	7. A Night at the theatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks enjoy a night at the newly refurbished Theater Royal, Drury Lane. Mr Jon Snow remains in town, and they meet their usual company while there, and potentially even Sansa's favourite celebrity!

The family arrived back from Portsmouth the next morning. Arya was still chattering almost non-stop about the great war ships they had seen in the bay. They were great big things, with sails as tall as houses and sides bristling with cannons, and she pronounced that she was incredibly jealous of both the boys in getting to sail in them. Lady Stark beamed to have them all at her breakfast table once more, even if Sansa was still subdued from their quarrel yesterday. Arya seemed oblivious to her sister's mood, and happily ate breakfast, grabbing fruit and toast from the table with her fingers. Bran sat absent-mindedly reading a book not even looking up to bite his toast and marmalade, only Jon seemed to pick up on Sansa's mood. 

"Anything exciting happening this week Sansa?" 

"We're going to the theatre on Thursday," Lady Stark offered when her daughter failed to reply.

"To see what?" Jon asked, again addressing Sansa, and this time she responded, perking up slightly  
"Mr Kean as Hamlet."   
The one part of papers she was read ritually were the theatre reviews, and she had heard much about Mr Kean’s work and the brand new Theatre Royal. They had been to the opera house since their arrival in London and seen a few light-hearted comedy-musicals, but this would mark her first serious play of the season. 

Jon smiled and expressed that he would love to see the master himself one day. Arya was about to interject that she would happily give up her seat, before remembering that she'd promised to help Gendry if the plot confused him. For once the tortuous years of governess lessons might actually come in handy. It was Bran who interjected instead,

"Actually, you can have my seat. Jojen Reed is in town for the week and we've planned to meet. His sister knows many of the writers in town and he knows all the best people to talk to and clubs to go to" he flushed with sudden intellectual enthusiasm, and at the prospect of a renewed acquaintance with the young man and his rather infamous bluestocking sister.   
"We've also promised to go for a round of fencing or two, just a few friendly matches, so please don't be alarmed, mother, if I come back with any injuries, I won’t be getting in any duels." 

Catelyn clucked and fussed over him, but consented, and it was agreed that it would be Jon who made up their party. Although Sansa was slightly annoyed that he would be joining them, it would be nice at least, to have someone who enjoyed the arts with them. Arya was an utter philistine in her opinion and she knew most the ladies of her acquaintance viewed the theatre as a social gathering rather than a cultural one, her mother included. She decided that she would not let Jon appear too shabby,and cajoled her father into lending him a newish cravat and crisp lawn shirt, while dressing him in one of Robb's suits although he refused to wear pantaloons. Her father was bemused by her preening over her newly acceptable cousin, but while Jon allowed it, he couldn't help but feel like a doll to be dressed to display the latest fashion to be sent to fools around the country, or a repurposed bonnet refashioned to match Sansa's outfit. 

Nevertheless on Friday evening they made a merry party, travelling along to the Theater Royal, marvelling at the grand pillars and foyer thronging with people dressed in a myriad of colours as illuminated by the seemingly endless glowing lights around the theatre. With trepidation they made their way up the great carpeted stairs, still slightly plush in their newness but on their way to being worn down by the hundreds of visitors.

By some seeming miracle, Sir Stark had secured them a box and Sansa happily grabbed the best view and got out her opera glasses to spot their friends. The Baratheon-Lannisters had a box too, while she could see the Tyrells in the circle. Their positioning meant they were easily visible, although their view of the actual stage was impaired. Both she and Arya made their excuses and made for their friends. The Lannisters were closer. Gendry broke into a broad smile as he saw them and Arya especially. Myrcella stayed at her seat however, torn between asking news of Robb and his lack of affection. He had made clear to her his intentions were “not marriage at the moment”, but a part of her hoped “not at the moment” might mean simply in the future. 

Meanwhile, Arya slipped a thin paper booklet into Gendry's hand.   
"The rough plot, as I remember it. Come to our box in the intervals still, you know we are far better company than Joff the Toff."   
This was her latest nickname for her sister's beau, who was currently giving her a pink paper rose to wear in her hair. Arya felt a shiver of annoyance, he couldn't even bother to get that right - pink clashed with Sansa’s red hair and she only ever wore white and blue flowers.   
From anyone else, she would have kicked up a fuss, but in front of Joffrey, she thanked him profusely. 

"I know we said we'd make you a gentleman Gend, but don't ever be like him." she snarked.   
Gendry chuckled   
"Don't worry Miss Stark, I've got no wish to be anything like him"   
Lady Baratheon seemed to overhear, or at least get a gist of the conversation and shot her stepson a poisonous look. Before she could do anything more, however, the sound of the musicians tuning filled the theatre and turned the humdrum of the crowd into a whispering murmur, as conversations finished and people scurried back to their seats. 

Sansa sat captivated, as the actors monologued, fought and paraded through the first half of the play. At the interval, she made her way down to the Grand Saloon with butterflies in her stomach. She had promised to meet Margaery there and try to meet the infamous Lord Byron, who was said to almost always be at the theatre. After making her way through the crowds base of the great pillars- where they had planned to meet- she searched wildly for Margaery and the distinctive turquoise flowers she had spotted in her hair earlier. Finally, she spotted her through one of the open doorways, standing on the landing of one of the great staircases. She was part of a gaggle of women around a dark-haired young man. Sansa waved at her and surged forward excitedly, but got nowhere fast. Margaery didn't seem to have noticed her at all and was giggling at the young man's every word.   
It must be him! Sansa's heart raced with excitement. She was close enough now that she could just about make out what was being said, 

"The actors were well enough, although I'll admit Ophelia seemed about as pure as London snow," Marg sniped, which the whole group laughed at. She carried on,   
"And Mr Kean was spectacular, of course, but I'll admit Gertrude looked more like his sister than his mother" 

"How would you change it then, miss?" the tall man asked bemused. 

"An artist should never reveal her ideas before they are finished. When they are I'll be sure to let you know?" she replied coyly. 

From the side of the room, another young man called to him, a slender but intelligent girl on his arm   
"Come on, George"   
"Just a second Percy!" he bid goodbye to all the ladies and then bowed and kissed Margaery's hand   
“Since you did not give me your name you shall have to remain incognito," and even Sansa could sense the flirtation between the two. 

And he disappeared back into the press. Margaery practically preened. For a second she seemed to look in Sansa’s direction but seemed not to see her friend as she was swept off to meet the acquaintances of her new friends who had surrounded Byron.   
If was with a bitter feeling Sansa trudged upstairs.   
Of course, she could not be sure of whether Margaery had spotted her or not, but she had promised to wait.   
When she got back to their box both Arya and her parents were gone”  
"Where is everyone?" Sansa asked, slightly dejected. 

"Arya got bored of waiting for Mr Gendry after three minutes, so she’s gone to find him. Ned spotted some of his colleagues from the house, and Lady Stark went with him” Jon informed her, and she sat down next to him quietly, taking the blasted pink rose out of her hair and fiddling with it a little forlornly, “How did you find the show?" Jon asked gently. Sansa began to perk up, and began to describe every detail that she had adored- her favourite word at the moment- from Mr Kean’s delivery to Ophelia’s dress  
"- I knew the ghost was coming, but he was truly terrifying, all that smoke and that booming voice" she finished.   
Jon chuckle softly, and added thoughtfully, "They got the transition between verse and prose wonderfully smooth" 

Sansa gave him a rare genuine smile, "How does it compare to the theatre you've seen? I know you did some at school and saw some at college"   
"Better, definitely" he laughed, "Although I'm pretty sure nothing will ever beat the sight of Harald Karstark trying desperately to get through his lines as quickly as possible, as Ophelia, as the last boy to have his voice break" 

She thought of the youngest Karstark, now just as burly as the rest of his brothers and giggled openly "I wish I'd seen it" 

"Be glad you didn't, he's never forgiven any of us, sulky bastard" he chuckled, before being shot a glare by returning Catelyn Stark.   
"Sorry, Lady Stark, Miss Stark" he said, blushing, and turning even more red as he saw Sansa hide her own smile behind her fan. 

Arya returned up suddenly, practically dragging Gendry by the sleeve. 

"Cersei is being even worse than usual, she spotted old Bobby Baratheon flirting with his Miss, or one of them at least,” she grinned widely, despite her mother’s glare at her coarse language  
“Sorry Gend,” she added as an afterthought, seemingly forgetting that the object of her ridicule was his father as well. She then launched back into her explanation,   
“Anyway she was taking it all out on Gendry, and try as she might, Myrcella couldn’t cool her down.”  
“Well, Mr Waters- sorry, Mr Baratheon- you are welcome to join us for the rest of the show, although we might be a little cramped” Sir Stark offered, fetching the boy another chair. Gendry gratefully took it, slightly bashful at his abrupt entrance to the party.

Sansa waited a minute before asking, “Did Mr Joffrey ask after me?”   
Arya shrugged and grabbed a piece of candied peel from a paper bag smuggled in her reticule. 

“I believe he was going to search out some of his card playing friends.” Gendry offered quietly.  
“Oh,” Sansa sniffed, looking slightly dejected. But as the curtains rose again, the pleasure of the theater and of the tragedy completely took her mind of Mr Joffrey, Lord Byron or any other young gentleman. 

The rest of the play went by without incident, and by the end of night they bid goodnight to Gendry and told him to give their love to his family. Sansa, as was her habit, kept both the ticket from the evening and the paper rose as a memento of the night in her keep-box, and even Arya tucked her ticket in her irregularly-kept journal as a memory of an almost perfect evening with two of her favourite people, Gendry and dear old Jon, as well her family, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I went down a bit of a rabbit hole trying to find a programme or mention of a Theatre Royal Drury Lane production in 1813- the setting of this chapter- and I could only references to 1812 and 1814, typical! 
> 
> Luckily it seems that many shows and productions would get several runs, depending on the demand - so even though the Theatre opened with Hamlet in October 1812, it seems reasonable for a performance to be on in Summer 1813, although if I am wrong please correct me! 
> 
> I like the idea of Jon having gone to a Northern/Scottish university- although I haven't quite decided which!- so most of his classmates I will talk about I will try and base off existing Northern Characters or at least surnames/houses. The Stark boys, however, are sent to much more southern schools- and when I send Bran off to university- it will probably be Oxford. 
> 
> My knowledge of the Romantic poets is... pretty limited- but I thought it would be a nice nod the other famous literary figures, even if you don't really think of them and Austen in the same sentence. My characterisation of Byron is more for the sake of the plot, and to show Margaery's slightly duplicitous character in this story, than anything based on him in real life. Although I will admit this scene was just ~slightly~ inspired by the scene with him in a theatre in the 2018 'Mary Shelley' film. 
> 
> Any reviews or critiques are always welcome! And I hope I keep up the slightly more motivated pace of writing I've had recently, I'll try and be more regular???


	8. What arrived in the post

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see a glimpse into the world of young Bran Stark, and the family hears from absent loved ones.

Bran did not return until around midday, and disappeared straight to his room and fell asleep until 5 pm. At around half 6, he dashed down to the parlour, where his mother was sitting and gave her a brief kiss on the cheek, as both a greeting and a goodbye. His dark hair fell rakishly over his face but his eyes were feverishly bright at the idea of another night's excitement. 

He headed first to a tea room- where they could meet with Miss Meera Reed respectably. This particular establishment was a far cry from the tea rooms his sisters and mother frequented. It was packed full of men and women, talking passionately. He heard snippets of science, politics, philosophy. He spotted the Reeds and sat with them, Jojen instantly pouring him a cup of tea. 

“How did they find the play, then?” was his first question, leaping back to one of the topics of last night's discussion. 

“They enjoyed it, although Sansa was sad to miss Byron. She’s something of a fan of his.” 

“Has she read of his work or just his scandals in the paper?” Meera asked, teasingly, but not unkindly.   
Both” Bran replied, grinning wickedly, before asking Meera about some of her own work. They all had slightly different areas of interest. Bran was interested mainly in politics, like his father before him, although he was quite sure Sir Eddard disapproved of his son’s interest in the radical writings from France and the Americas. Eddard had a sympathetic heart, but lacked the fire of youthful radical will, unlike his son.

Jojen was far more an artist. He was more slender than his friend and had golden locks which curled delicately around his forehead, and large doe eyes which made him a pet favourite among the ladies of their circle. His main interest was writing, and he consumed voraciously the latest gothic novels and writings, although unlike Sansa he disliked the sentimentality in them. Instead, he leaned more into the gloomy elements and folk aspects. He had published a few poems himself, with little commercial success. His ideas, he would say, came to him in dreams, and it was hard to believe such fantastical haunting desolate worlds belonged to the mind of such a mild-mannered looking boy.   
Then there was Meera. She wore a veritable uniform of plain dresses and a deep blue Spencer jacket - often adding a great coat that had belonged to her father to the ensemble. It made her a strange figure- slim and almost ghostly pale, but broad-shouldered and outlined by the billowing coat. She seemed to dabble in most things and being a few years older than the boys she was far more of a cynic. Still, her fingers were permanently stained with fresh ink and although she had no works to her own name, her writings could be found regularly in the latest newspapers and pamphlets- either under anonymous, or the name of ‘Mr H Crannog’. 

The small party soon left the tea rooms, making their way to a gathering, where a talk being held by a pro-abolitionist lawyer from the Americas - who had come via Haiti itself, and read out a letter from an intellectual from Peton’s republic, talking about the ideas of this still reasonably new nation, and the need to support them, and protect them from French interference. 

He was followed by various others, including a union man and a radical MP, and then a member of the Free Folk, a radical group, labelled as revolutionaries by some. Their lead speaker was a wild red-haired man, with a large bushy beard and impressive pair of whiskers. Bran found them intriguing, but perhaps too radical even for him. They did have a few friends among their number, and a woman they knew only as Osha invited them to gin gardens to share a drink and talk politics after. They joined them for a while before Bran got into an argument with a Free Folk Scotsman who came from Old Jacobite stock and disliked "Southerners" like the Starks. After that they decided to retreat to the small townhouse Reed siblings were renting, climbing all the way to the roof, drinking rum from the bottle. It seemed the whole world giddy with the night and from their perch, even London had its beauty. The moon shone dully through the smog and the clouds, and lamp lights glowed like smudges of gold on an oil painting in the streets below. They sat on a picnic blanket, Bran leaning against Meera, who sat hugging her knees, while Jojen paced on the flat terrace area, testing out new lines of his poems. 

"How wonderful is Death,  
Death and his brother Sleep!  
One, pale as yonder waning moon  
With lips of lurid blue;  
The other, rosy as the morn  
When throned on ocean’s wave  
It blushes o'er the world;  
Yet both so~!" he trailed off here, unsure how to finish the line. 

"Does it ruin or strengthen the effect to repeat 'wonderful' from the first line?"   
Bran and Meera shrugged, in the middle of their own wandering conversation about women's education. Meera clocked her head, reconsidering her brother's question   
"I'd say strengthen" 

The next thing Bran remembered was the bright light of dawn piercing his eyes and the realisation that they had fallen asleep up on the roof. Shivering and giggling they made their way back into the house- rapidly lit a log burner and wrapped themselves in blankets till they warmed up. 

By some miracle, Bran managed to make it to the Starks' residence before the others woke up. He was snuck in by the housekeeper,  
-fondly known by the children as Old Nan- who swore not to let anyone know that he had not slept in his own bed that night. He was the last down to breakfast, yawning and bleary-eyed- but no one any the wiser to his escapades the night before.   
It helped, of course, they were all excited as a slim letter that had arrived in the mail that morning, addressed in Robb's hand. Torn open, it read:

"Dear all, 

Safely reached port, am well, although glad to be on dry land again. Will write again once I am in quarters 

Love,   
Robb" 

For such a short epistle it sent the whole household into a frenzy - Catelyn read it first, the. before clutched it to her heart, and showed Ned. Then Arya veritable grabbed it and read it aloud, while Sansa scrambled to try and get a look.   
Jon grinned wildly at the news of his old friend and then read his own letter from the silver platter. As the chaos of and excitement of Robb's letter subsided he announced gleefully. 

"I wrote to Mama, saying that I would stay a bit longer and she's agreed to come and visit us!" 

"Wonderful!" Sir Eddard grinned, "I'll write to her myself after breakfast and make arrangements" then turning to his wife "we shall have to have a room made ready for her"   
Catelyn nodded her assent, only half listening while reading a letter from Rickon. His handwriting was an odd schoolboy mix between rushed and many years of trained penmanship. 

"Rickon seems to have settled down well, although he's already been in trouble with his schoolmaster, and been caught scrapping. He says it wasn't his fault" she tutted, exasperated, but continued fondly "but his grades are good and he asks if he can and stay with one of the other boys for a week over holidays - though he's promised to come home first," she turned the letter over " Oh! And he's asked for more pocket money! The little rascal" she smiled fondly again at her absent youngest. 

Amongst the various business correspondence for Sir Stark, was a note from the Baratheon-Lannisters inviting them to dinner. With Sir Stark busy preparing a speech for the house the next day it was agreed Lady Stark would keep him company, while Bran excused himself from the party, leaving just the young Miss Starks. 

"Well Jon, will you join us?" Arya asked, "I'm sure Mr Waters would love to meet you properly" 

"They have invited the Starks, and I'm not technically a Stark" he answered awkwardly, 

"Jon is right Arya, he isn't invited and he is just a curate," Sansa said, somewhat pertly. Jon looked crestfallen, at being made so obviously unwanted. Trying to fix matters Sansa added hastily "I'm sure they wouldn't mind though," 

But the damage was done, and Mr Snow murmured something about replying to his mother and some reading he needed to do anyway that evening. 

"Now look what you've done!" Arya exclaimed. 

"I didn't say anything that was not true" Sansa retorted, torn between indignance and annoyance at both her sister and herself  
"Besides you were the one who suggested he come in the first place!" 

Arya shot her sister an angry look,  
"Don't blame me for your own cruelty, God knows why, but Jon values your good opinion!" with this she dashed out of the room after her cousin, hitching her skirts up.   
Sansa looked mortified, both at her sister's outbursts and at a reminder of the lapsed closeness between her and Mr Snow. 

From his end of the table, Bran yawned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some historical notes!
> 
> The Wildings/Free Folk are a group of radical socialist thinkers from the period, of the kind that sprung up around the enlightenment. Although this story is set too late for them to be Jacobites (Culloden was lost in 1745) I like the idea of several of their members coming from old highlander families who were part of the rebellion. 
> 
> The poem is part of Percy Shelley's 'Queen Mab' which was published in 1813, and which I have just reattributed in this universe. The line actually ends 'Yet both so passing wonderful!' 
> 
> Robb's letter may seem to have arrived quickly, but in terms of time scale, in my head, he was seen off at the harbour the last weekend and set sail perhaps the Monday, the theatre trip was on Thursday meaning this letter arrived on Saturday morning. Seeing as the travelling times across the channel varied between 3-18 hours, and Robb is going a little further to Northern Troops where the troops would be in during the Peninsular War. It seems plenty of time (for my mind) for him to have arrived and sent a letter back, but if I am wrong please correct me! 
> 
> my ref (http://historicalhussies.blogspot.com/2016/06/crossing-english-channel-before-1820_24.html)
> 
> As always any feedback, corrections etc is always welcome


	9. Arrival of a visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna Snow (nee Stark) arrives in London to visit the family, and memories of her time in London come flooding back, along with a few figures from her past. 
> 
> Just a note- sexist attitudes and language are used in this chapter but are intended to reflect period times, not any of my own ideas x

Mrs Lyanna Snow arrived back in London, which in so many ways, looked like the same city she had once arrived in as Miss Lyanna Stark. Her carriage, sent to meet her by her brother, not her father this time, rattled along the cobbled stones to a central London address which was the same. The inside of the carriage was trimmed in a slightly different style but was still the same deep blue colour favoured by her family. The dress she wore was rather different, her waistline higher and her skirt narrower, yet under her stays and her chemise, the same butterflies danced in her stomach. Only this time they were butterflies of dread. 

The large door to the Stark's London residence and Mrs Snow walked up the steps. It was a small welcome, with just her son there to greet her, promising her brother would be there that evening to see her. He clasped him to her warmly and kissed her cheek.   
"I've missed you, ma"   
"It’s only been a fortnight, silly boy," she said fondly ruffling his hair. 

He took her arm and walked her up to her room, one of the smaller rooms that had been a guest room when she had last been here. It was tastefully decorated by her sister-in-law, who was much more suited to being a wife of a great household than Lyanna was. Sometimes, she was grateful that her husband, may his soul rest in peace, was only a well off farmer. He had lived on her father's estate and given her and her son his surname and respectability.   
The panelled walls were painted a pale blue colour whilst the inner panels were wallpapered with illustrated scenes of blue ink, almost like Wedgwood china. The large bed dominated the room, made of dark wood, licked with gold along its fluted panes which caught the sunlight through the chintz curtains. She had a small writing desk, wardrobe and screen to dress behind, and although she reckoned the room was at least half as big again as her bedroom in the cottage she lived in, it was far smaller than the room just on the floor below, that had once been hers. The door had been propped open as she walked past, and the inside was strangely familiar although re-papered since her chaotic summer all those years ago.

She could see the room before her as if it were yesterday, crumpled gowns and bonnets discarded on the backs of chairs or thrown over her screen, while she sat in a far more comfortable and practical outfit on her bed, reading the latest adventure- or chasing one of her brothers down the carpeted halls. Now it was Sansa’s it was meticulous, although the dresser was covered in many more different lotions and accessories, and there was a bookcase brimming with the latest novels and poetry in the corner.   
Lyanna had begun to unpack from her small case when there was a scuffle outside the door and a loud knock. Before Lyanna even had a chance to answer, Arya burst in, and gave her a giant hug 

“Aunt Lyanna, I’m so glad you’re here! Now Father might let me go riding without one of the boys to accompany me” she pulled a face that Lyanna recognised all too well. She gave a merry laugh “I shall see what I can do” 

“Good!” said Arya, throwing herself onto the bed. “Your room is much nicer than mine” she declared “for some reason I seem to have wallpaper with cupids and all sorts of nonsense on. Yours is far more interesting.” Lyanna privately added, ‘and much smaller’.   
Just as quickly as she had dashed in, Arya heard the chiming of the clock and dashed out, “Got to go!” she cried, “Bran’s promised to teach me some more fencing” the last part of her sentence came from somewhere down the hall, as she ran away.   
From somewhere in the house she heard an exasperated “Arya!” that sounded like her other niece. She packed her small number of belongings away and she headed downstairs to find news of her brother or sister-in-law. She found the latter sitting in the drawing-room, embroidering with Sansa. 

“Lyanna!” Lady Stark cried fondly, “I’m so glad you arrived here safely”  
“Oh, yes it was quite a pleasant journey. I managed to get a ride with the mail coach most of the way, although it was very sweet of Ned to send your carriage to meet me outside the city. I would have been perfectly fine riding in the mail coach, the last driver we had was capital- he knew how to ride fast without feeling as if your insides were being churned." she grinned, talking with a freedom that never failed to amuse Catelyn although it no longer shocked her.   
Sansa however, pulled quite a face at the idea of travelling by yourself with utter strangers.   
"What if you encountered bandits or highwaymen!?" she asked quite earnestly.   
Lyanna laughed. "I'd like to see them try to rob me. Besides, other than a few dresses and a small purse I had nothing of value on me to steal. Besides," she added with a grin "it would be quite an adventure"   
"Highwaymen are all well and good in books, but in real life, I will admit the idea frightens me" Sansa answered honestly. 

"Well, they don't frighten me," Arya retorted, bounding into the room and dumping her foil on the ground. Her hair was falling out of its pins and she was still dressed in the rough clothes she had worn for her fencing lesson. "Arya," her mother admonished, exasperated but fond "What have I said about being among company in such a state?" 

Just at that moment, the doorbell rang. Arya’s blood ran cold as a servant ran in and announced it was the Baratheons calling. The main staircase to her room was in the main hall and she couldn't get passed without being seen. Resolving to go up the servants' stairs, another thing she wasn't supposed to do, she dashed out of the room in a whirlwind. In her haste she forgot her dumped equipment and Sansa was just able to hastily hide them behind the drapes when none other than Lady Cersei swept in, accompanied by her own two eldest and Mr Gendry, keeping a few paces behind the others. 

Cersei swept in the room in a cloud of perfume, greeting Catelyn as if they were old friends, although the smile never reached her eyes. 

"Oh, you and Miss Stark look so very fine today! Not as fine as our Myrcella, of course, but very…." she paused as if searching for the right word. "neat" she smiled as if her generosity in acknowledging this other girl's prettiness made her some sort of saint. Both Myrcella and Sansa looked abashed.   
Joffrey, it seemed, had taken little notice, and simply looked bored until his mother asked him in a slightly strained tone if he agreed. 

He straightened up suddenly and became a charming society man.  
"Yes, very pretty. I'm glad to see you wearing gold too, you ought to wear it more. After all, it will make you match me better"   
Sansa's heart fluttered at this, and the idea of them being seen as a couple. She replied gushingly, but Joffrey took little notice, other than smiling a languid and slightly self-pleased smile at her.   
He sat cross-legged on a chaise and indicated for Sansa to sit with him, she hastily joined him, going to sit on his right when he snapped somewhat irritably,  
"My dearest Sansa, why must you sit in my light?"   
Hastily she moved from the comfortable end of the chaise to a rather small stool by his elbow   
"Much better," he said, smiling his most charming smile. 

"And who might this be?" Lady Cersei asked, smiling condescendingly at Lyanna.   
"I'm sure you recognise my sister-in-law" Catelyn replied.   
"Ah Miss Stark, I didn't recognise you, you've aged since I last saw you. Still, it's been some time since you were last out in society, is it not?"   
"It is Mrs Snow now" Lyanna replied quietly but coldly.  
“Oh! You did marry eventually!” Cersei proclaimed, sounding surprised. “How lovely for you”  
Joffrey made an aside to Sansa, “From what I have heard of your aunt she is far more interested in other people’s husbands than her own.”   
Sansa turned pink, torn between her family loyalty and her desire to please Mr Baratheon.   
He smirked at her response, taking her hand, “I am glad to see you don’t take after her. I expect utter loyalty from you,” A lock of blonde hair fell across his brow, giving him a rather rakish look with this gesture, and Sansa’s heart couldn’t help but thrill at it. Part of her longed to brush that hair gently back into place, and touch his dear sweet face. And to think he was asking her for her loyalty, it seemed almost too good to be true. 

“You shall make a wonderful wife, I am sure, my dear girl,” said Cersei, overhearing.

“I am glad you think so, my lady. I hope that I might be as loyal and gracious as you” Sansa replied prettily. In the corner, Gendry couldn’t help but inwardly seethe. His father, it must be acknowledged from far from a model husband, but even in his short time in the household, he knew his stepmother was loyal only to herself and her children, especially Joffrey. 

“I only hope that you find a husband worthy of your loyalty, my darling” Lyanna replied sharply.   
Cersei appeared to hum an agreement before adding, “Like your dear brother.”   
The statement was intended for the mortification of the Starks but Sansa noticed with a pang Myrcella looked most crestfallen by her mother’s remark. Her old friend had hardly uttered a word their entire visit.   
Joffrey seemed oblivious to his sister’s pain and asked Sansa if she would join him for a turn about the room. She assented, placing her hand gently on his arm, and they began to walk slowly around the drawing-room. Quietly, Sansa pointed out her ancestors in paintings around the room ending with   
“...that is my grandfather, Sir Rickard Stark, painted in 1788.” Joffrey, who had taken little interest in all the other figures around the room, perked up,   
“... and is that your uncle, the traitor?” he pointed at a picture of Brandon Stark. “How dare you!” declared Lyanna, jumping to her feet at once, her high cheekbones colouring bright red. “My dear,” Lady Cersei cooed condescendingly, “It isn’t anything that isn’t true. It is a well-known fact that Mr Stark joined the rebellion in the colonies. I am sure you are embarrassing our mutual host, after all, she had a lucky escape from being married to such a rascal”

Catelyn who had coloured at Joffrey’s remark but remained silent seemed even more incensed but taking a deep breath prepared to diffuse the situation. That was, until Arya burst in, attracted by the noise from downstairs. The doors swung wildly open, hitting Joffrey square in the face. He let a high squeal of pain. 

Lyanna tried to keep a straight face as he dropped to his knees clutching his injured arm. He stripped off his coat, flinging it at the ground and unlaced his sleeve, trying to make out where the door had hit him. Sansa knelt next to him, trying to comfort him. “ My darling, are you hurt!?” she exclaimed, “Of course I’m hurt!” he replied curtly, “Go and fetch me something cool to put on my arm!” Sansa hurried out of the room, shooting an annoyed look at her sister. Meanwhile, Joffrey approached his mother, wailing “Look at my poor arm, it’ll be black and blue. Oh, Mother! Mother!” Cersei cooed and petted him, brushing his hair and wiping the tears that had sprung up on his eyes from the pain. 

“It is barely red, Joff, at least it could have been worse” Myrcella offered as an attempt to calm him, but it did no good. Arya backed out of the room, followed by Gendry, both trying not to laugh at his hysterics. Sansa ran back past them, carrying a cloth, followed by a maid carrying a bowl of iced water and another with salve and bandages. 

“I am so sorry, Mr Baratheon, Lady Baratheon” she exclaimed, “Might I help?” she knelt on the ground next to him, and eventually he offered her his arm. She dipped the cloth in cold water and wrung it, dabbing it gently against his arm.   
“Ow, ow, ow” he whimpered, “It is bleeding? I’m sure it is. Mother, is it bleeding?” he directed his moans straight at her, barely acknowledging Sansa’s presence as she continued to dab his arm gently. She rather enjoyed nursing him, although she had hoped that he might call her darling and thank her for her aid. 

“That’s too cold” he whinged slightly, as Sansa reapplied the cloth, which was then snatched out of her hands by Lady Baratheon, who took over the nursing herself,   
“Oh my poor dear, my poor darling Joffrey” she turned to Sansa who had just ridden from the floor, “Don’t just stand there girl” she snapped, “Fetch him some sweet tea for the shock.” By this point Lyanna too had left the room, having remained for a limit to watch rather gleefully the young man’s pain. She had now retreated to the library, where she found Gendry and Arya in peels of laughter. 

“You shouldn’t laugh,” she said, trying to tell them off, but she couldn’t help but feel her mouth twitch at the young man’s dramatics. “Oh! But Auntie!” Arya declared, “it’s too funny.” She grabbed her arm, miming crying,   
“Oh, mummy! Mummy!” she wailed, then elbowing Gendry and hissing “You be Sansa.” She faked a swoon, “Oh! Help me! Help me!” she wailed. Gendry took up his role, mimicking concern “Oh my dearest darling dear! How could the nasty girl hurt you! What a mean petty-” that last bit was cut off as Arya elbowed him, winding him. He doubled over, letting go off her, and causing her to genuinely lose her balance this time. She careened towards the floor, with Gendry diving to catch her and ending up on a pile on the floor himself. They looked at each other on the floor and burst into giggles at the same time. This time Lyanna couldn’t help but join in their mirth, laughing at their antics herself. Gendry, however, suddenly became completely aware that his arm had fallen across Arya’s chest. He snatched it back quickly, causing Lyanna to laugh at the blushing boy further, although not unkindly. “I’ll leave you two to it, just don’t tell your mother I left you alone in a room with a-,” she lowered her voice suggestively “-gentleman.”   
She left the room, just as Arya sat up, now blushing herself, and began to protest indignantly.   
“Do you not think I’m a gentleman then?” Gendry teased, giving her a hand up, “No, of course not-!” she exclaimed, blushing even deeper, before regaining her composure, “You just aren’t a gentleman like that”   
He raised an eyebrow, quizzically, “You know what I mean,” Arya replied, rolling her eyes, “Let’s see what they are up to” she said, pulling him along, and glad to turn her still red face away from him. Gendry gladly followed, trying to put aside the strange mix of emotions of mirth, a joyful thrill at their closeness and weird disappointment at her denial of him being a gentleman. Was he not? Did she not see him as one? 

Arya gestured for him to stand with her at the foot of the stairs allowing them a view through into the drawing-room. Inside was a very pitiable scene. Joffrey now lay on the chaise, with his head resting in his mother’s lap, while Myrcella sat on a chair beside his head, and Sansa knelt on the floor holding his saucer, while he drank his tea weakly, like an injured kitten. It was a very domestic scene, and all apart from the star played their role admirably, for if Joffrey had been overcome by some duelling wound it could be a printed illustration from one of Sansa’s novels. It was utterly melodramatic, and Lady Stark who stood in the corner of the room, gave a sharp glance at Gendry and Arya, willing them to remain silent and not further disturb things. 

Suddenly, a carriage drew up outside and the door was opened to none other than Sir Eddard Stark and Lord Robert. Footsteps were heard down the stairs as Lyanna ran to greet her brother. She was stopped in her tracks however, by the sight of his company. To Robert Baratheon the sight of Miss Lyanna Stark, as she would always be in his eyes, out of breath and as lovely as ever, turned back the years- and he was a young man of 23 again, meeting her for the first time. He bowed to her deeply. Arya watched her aunt stiffen, avoiding the urge to run away from this man. 

“Lyanna,” he said in a voice so broken and gentle even Gendry barely recognised it as his father’s. “Lord Baratheon” she replied stiffly, curtseying.   
“Robert” came a furious hiss from the other room. Cersei was stood up now, her previous role as nurse forgotten in her fury. “You will not embarrass me further than you already have.” She made a less than veiled gesture at Gendry. Lord Robert turned as if seeing her for the first time. He also saw his son lying weakly on the couch.   
“What is wrong with the boy?” he boomed, ignoring his wife’s words. He strode across to the chaise, remarkably quick for a man of his size.   
“What!?” he declared incredulously, “a slight bruise. By the Gods, are you made of milk, boy? Hmm? Do I have another daughter instead of a son?'' He looked carelessly over his shoulder at where Gendry and Arya stood, still pressed against one another as they had leant to spy into the drawing-room. He guffawed at the sight of them. 

“At least one of my sons has enough in him to woo a woman properly, rather than with sympathy,” his lips curled in disgust at Joffrey. Gendry sprung apart from Arya, eyes wide with indignation. He wasn’t doing anything of the sort with Arya. She was his friend, wasn’t she? 

“Come on, boy” Robert roared, turning on his heel. Lyanna had taken his distraction as an opportunity to escape from him, slipping back up the stairs. Still, as Robert stormed out, followed by his wife (who seemed a human medusa, radiating stony fury and poison) he cast one last longing look up the stairs.   
Joffrey followed, shaking off Sansa’s hand, torn between blazing anger and humiliation. Myrcella placed a cautioning hand on Sansa’s arm, before following silently.   
Gendry made to move after them, but was stopped in his tracks when he heard Arya mutter “Don’t go Gend-” she hadn’t even intended to say the words aloud, but they froze him to his core. Sir Eddard placed a hand on his shoulder, “It might be best for you to stay out of Lady Baratheon’s way for the rest of the day” 

Gendry nodded mutely, and slowly the house returned to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First thing, I have changed the tags of this fic. I had intended when I first started writing this story for Renly and Loras to play a much bigger role and have their relationship to have a much bigger role, and although I still intend to include them in this story, I haven't got to their part yet, and it feels wrong to have the fic tagged with M/M without that yet. 
> 
> Lyanna's backstory will also be gone into in more depth later on in the story, but never explicitly told. However, it does pretty much follow the lines of her backstory in the original material, except she doesn't die (obvs). I will have some Targaryens and Martells later on in the story, but that's all to come. 
> 
> No particular period notes on this chapter, other than I know that the war of Independence was in the 1770s and 80s and so for Brandon to be involved messes slightly with the timeline of the fic (and the parallel canon timeline), but considering the story is taking place only one year after the 1812 war, I still reckon it's appropriate for Joffrey to consider him a traitor for siding with America. This also allows me to get Brandon out of the way without killing him and leaves him to play with as a writer.


	10. The end of the Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the end of summer, parliament and the Season in London fast approaching, the Stark's make the most of their time in London. They get a surprise in the post and a trip shopping re-awakens old memories.

It was a gloriously hot August day, a few weeks later, and Arya sat at the breakfast table, already impatient to go outside. She thought with glee about riding in the park, alone with Bran- without Sansa there to make them slow down. Perhaps they could stop by the lake, while their horses cooled down, or visit one of the gin gardens Bran liked. Although the conversation was sure to be a little boring- Bran’s friends, by her standards, were far too serious- it would be far less formal than a trip with her mother. 

Sansa was equally excited, sitting next to her aunt. When Lyanna had arrived, one of the first things Sansa had insisted on was taking her to her new favourite dressmakers. The name was not one Lyanna had recognised, although she knew that her sister-in-law still favoured the same seamstress that she had used when she was still a Tully. Lyanna had little memory of where she had her dresses made for her one and only season. All she could recall was that her court gowns and ball gowns were made in different shops. Today, after picking out fabrics and cuts the final fitting was to be done, and the gowns to be sent straight to Winterfell. With the end of the parliamentary session fast approaching, the season would also soon be over.

Breakfast, therefore, was a hectic affair. Sansa sat talking with Lyanna, or more accurately at Lyanna, about the various shops they had to stop in for trimmings and accessories to match the new gowns. Arya was trying to get everyone to hurry along so she could leave as soon as possible, while Sir Eddard was sat, spectacles perched on his nose, reading through a pile of papers. For many of his colleagues the end of the summer session was a chance to relax, but Ned was determined to get through as many bills as possible by the end of the summer. There were a few bills in particular, around tariffs in certain ports, which if passed would threaten Northern trade links, and so were vital to his interest. 

The arrival of the post set the already busy household into even more of a flurry. Ned put aside his papers to scan the newspaper looking for anything interesting, Sansa, who insisted on receiving her own copy of the paper every morning, skipped through to the announcements column. She had heard that an engagement was to be expected any day between Margaery’s cousin Eleanor and her beau, a young Mr Ambrose. She could not see their names but her disappointment was entirely forgotten when she spotted with a shriek,  
“Aunt is Lysa engaged to that Baelish man!” 

Catelyn turned pale, flicking through the letters that were addressed to her,   
“I thought I recognised Lysa’s hand” she muttered to herself as she tore open the thick creamy paper. Inside was a short and formal letter inviting them to the ceremony and celebration in a few months to be held at their residence in Bath. They had decided to delay the ceremony until Mr Baelish returned from a business trip. Catelyn privately assumed that was to make the most of showing off his rich new bride to be when most of society would be taking the waters. Surprisingly she requested that Arya, but not Sansa, be her bridesmaid. 

There was a smaller and more personal postscript- it read: 

“Don’t be cross Cat, I’ve made up my mind and you shan’t dissuade me. I shall be the envy of every woman to have found such a doting husband. You need not be jealous, although I shall forgive you if you are. Everything is to be so very wonderful, and I shan’t have it ruined.” 

It was so like Lysa to be such a fool she thought. Trembling slightly she read the main body of the letter out loud, keeping behind this last bit.   
Everyone sat in a slightly stunned silence until Ned put a hand on hers, 

“Mr Baelish has been a good friend to her. I shall be glad for Jon’s sake that she is looked after” he thought fondly of his old recently departed friend. 

“Oh! But she’s hardly come out of mourning Ned, she ought to be wearing purple still, but no doubt she will be all decked up in all the ribbon she can find” Catelyn replied bitterly. 

“How come I have to be a bridesmaid?” Arya cried out, furious at the idea of having Aunt Lysa choose an outfit for her. 

“Because she does not want me to upstage her” Sansa replied laughingly, giving her red curls a vain little pat.   
“Damn you! it’s so unfair!” Arya exclaimed in return. “Do not use such language!” her mother snapped.   
“But mother…” Arya began to reply,   
“But nothing,” Catelyn finished firmly. “I shall write to Lysa, I’m sure your aunt simply made a mistake.” 

“Rubbish” Arya muttered, but something about the fierceness in her mother's voice made her slump back into her chair quietly. A silence fell over the room. Finally, Lyanna spoke quietly,   
“I shan’t force my way into your sister’s party, I’m sure she does not mean for me to be included in your invitation. But do give her my congratulations.” 

She spoke sincerely. She did not know the other woman well, but they were close in age, and she seemed to recall that Lysa Tully had been about as fond as Mr Arryn as she had been of her own intended. At least now Lysa was able to make her own choice, and privately Lyanna envied the luxury of it. Catelyn had never understood what it was to be torn between love and duty, and while she was glad at the success of her brother’s marriage, she knew it had done little to dissuade the sister-in-law of her convictions. Marriage in her eyes was as much for your family as it was for you. 

After this revelation, the family retired to their rooms finishing their preparations for their respective days. Arya dressed in her favourite redingote, far plainer than most designs with their trim and braiding but made of dark study wool and fitted snuggly. She was sure Gendry would understand her annoyance over being made a bridesmaid. After all, he himself hated being made the centre of attention and paraded in front of others, even if they were mostly family. 

In the meanwhile Sansa dressed, thrilling at the idea of treating her aunt. She was sure the new gowns she had chosen would show off her petite figure and her striking dark hair, so different from Sansa’s own and so similar to Arya. But unlike Arya, her aunt had far more patience for Sansa and her fancies. They took the family carriage to the dressmakers, a large fronted shop in the fashionable part of town. There they were greeted by a pretty girl, dimpled and freckled, who was the daughter of the lady who owned the shop.

In the fitting room, she brought out the gowns which were to have their final fitting in great boxes and oversaw a small flurry of girls who would dart forward and place a pin when instructed. There were two full gowns ordered, one more casual and one suitable for an evening event, a long dark cloak made of fine but sturdy wool that would keep her warm in the Northern winter and a more fashionable pelisse, trimmed with fur and military-style braiding. She also had a light chemisette to match her day dress and a fine shawl to match her deep blue evening dress. Lyanna felt like she was in a whirlwind of silk and muslin, as the designs she had hesitantly picked out only a few weeks ago now came to life on her. Sansa, however, took it all very much in her stride, cooing and eyeing each outfit admiringly, but also scrutinising every detail. She found it very much amusing when Lyanna seemed to start every time she was set upon by one of the shop girls bearing pins. 

After the fitting had finished, and Sansa went to charge the items to the family account, Lyanna couldn’t help but think of the tired eyes of the girls who had served them, and their hands, red around the knuckles and fingertips, the result of many hours labour. She felt a sudden spike of guilt at the speed at which her outfits had been finished, obviously at these girls expense. In the small town, they lived in the North where she knew everyone and would happily wait a month or two for a new garment of any kind. It was easy to forget that the charmed life she had once lived, and the rest of her family still lived, came at a great cost. Before they left the shop, she quietly pulled aside one of the girls and placed the few small coins she had in her palm as a tip. The girl mouthed a quiet thank you and quickly secreted the coins into her apron pocket. As their carriage pulled away from the shop Lyanna could see the dimpled owner’s daughter turn round with a sharp look and she prayed that she hadn’t made things worse for the poor seamstress. 

Sansa insisted they visit a haberdashery and while the outfits were still fresh in their mind, they picked out a few new hair ribbons and gloves. Then at the milliners, she debated various potential hat accessories. She suggested a beautiful display of coloured paper roses, she had a bonnet trimmed with cream ones and thought it would be utterly darling if they were to match. 

“What about the blue roses?” she asked, nodding for the shop assistant to fetch them. Lyanna held them trembling. She almost expected them to have a scent, like those she had been given many years ago. Sadly, she shook her head and declared that Sansa could pick anything but those. Tired and wistful she sat down in the shop and asked when they would be able to return home. Puzzled, Sansa finished up their purchases and followed her unusually quiet aunt to the carriage. 

Once they were sat once more in the privacy of the Stark residence, Sansa finally found the courage to ask her aunt what had bothered her. 

“It concerns a matter that you need not trouble yourself with,” she answered, somewhat bitterly. 

“Does it concern the matter to which Lady Baratheon insinuated the other day?” Sansa asked. Her aunt looked surprised that the girl had picked up on it. It wasn’t that her niece was not smart, but she could often be self-absorbed.   
“Yes, Cersei pointed it out the other day, I cannot think of her as Lady Baratheon, even now.” 

“I saw the way Lord Baratheon looked at you. He was quite besotted. Was he your beau?” Sansa asked, picturing the romance of her aunt having her lover stolen by a beautiful golden-haired minx. 

“He wanted to be,” Lyanna said, holding her head high with some of her old pride. Sansa’s eyes shone with curiosity as she looked up at her. Lyanna paced the room debating what to tell her. She had never even told Jon the whole truth. He was her darling boy and she didn’t want him haunted with her shame anymore than he was. And Sansa wasn’t exactly known for keeping her mouth closed. Then again, she reasoned, considering her closeness to the Baratheons and Lannisters, it was only a matter of time before she heard. It would be better if it came from her, she decided. 

“Sansa,” she started, hesitantly. The younger girl looked at her intently. “If I tell you you must promise to never tell another soul. If you must ask, ask me or your parents, do not ask Cersei or Robert, she has always hated me and he…” she trailed off again, unsure how to express the oddness of her feelings towards him. 

“And you must also swear never to tell Jon. He knows parts of it, but it is my story to tell him when he decides to ask. Do you swear?”

“By my immortal soul, I do,” Sansa answered, giving her aunt a serious look that reassured Lyanna. 

“Then I will tell you, as simply as I can, what happened: 

I first came out as a debutante a year younger than you, at 16 going on 17. It was my first time in a big city or down south at all. But even before I arrived I knew that there was an understanding between my family and the Baratheons regarding Robert, especially since he had grown so close to Ned at school. I suppose he was handsome enough in his way, and plenty of young women found him charming, so I guess he must have been. I never liked him much. From the moment I arrived in London, he seemed to think I belonged to him and would scowl whenever I danced with other men. He was overbearing and loud and, although I never thought him a bad person, I thought we were ill-suited. In social settings, I just about managed to hold my tongue, but I knew the moment we were in private I would snap. 

Then a young man arrived from abroad, a few years older than Robert and his opposite in every way. He was quiet, thoughtful and cultured and yet when we talked there was a wildness to him that matched a wildness in me. I was besotted, quickly head over heels. He talked and danced with other women, including Cersei, who though I’m sure will deny it now, sought his attention for himself. But it was me he picked. We soon began an intrigue, all perfectly chaste, and though I tried to keep it secret I don’t believe I was ever so interested in flowers and love letters as in those few weeks. Although I had an understanding with Robert we had never officially been engaged, and so when the man asked me to marry him I did. 

We eloped quietly to a small chapel and then stayed the next few nights in a crumbling tower- his only actual property in the country, as his family's wealth and titles lay abroad. I returned to London as his wife, and though my family was angry I was sure they would soon reconcile themselves to the match. Then, a few days later my life was turned upside down. I was at the hotel suite we had moved into, when a young man burst in, demanding to see my husband followed by another calmer and slightly older man. He asked who I was, and I replied haughtily with my married name. ‘My God!’ he exclaimed, ‘You’re only a girl!” 

Lyanna paused. She could see the scene before her even now. Her sat on her bed, dressed only in a light house-dress and wrapped in a thin shawl, with the dark eyes of the Martell brothers fixed on her. She remembered the look of horror on their faces as they realised this waif-like girl before them was at the heart of all this trouble. Lyanna swallowed, holding back the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. 

“He genuinely seemed to pity me. My husband, as had I thought him, arrived soon after and the room became a shouting match, especially between him and the younger man, who soon stormed out, followed by who I soon understood to be his brother. But even in that short time, I knew the truth. 

My husband was a bigamist. Their sister was his wife, whom he had left still pregnant with a son who had been born in his absence. He had seemed to think that because his first marriage was under the Catholic church and his second under the Church of England, that it would be fine. Or perhaps he simply did not care. Perhaps he was so used to getting his own way that he did not think society's rules applied to him. We argued and I fled back home, not even stopping to change. I tore through the streets of London, not waiting for a carriage to be called, crying. I ran for ages, soon lost in the rainy streets of the city- until I happened to run into Ned- who took me home. I was soaked, shivering and crying and soon came down with a fever. I barely remember what followed. My older brother decided, likely encouraged by Robert, to challenge my so-called husband to a duel, but before he could, my husband tried to call at the house and claim me back. Enraged, Brandon shot at him and chased him out the house. He shot at him again in his retreating carriage. He hit a manservant, who later bled out. He fled to America, to escape the law, and there he got caught up in a whole new string of messes. And I returned to Winterfell disgraced. I married Mr Snow six months later, arranged by my father and Ned to salvage my reputation. And I have lived quietly ever since.” She ended with a sigh. 

“And the blue roses?” Sansa asked quietly, taking the wild tale in. 

“Had been my husband’s pet present to me. I was wearing them in my hair the night we met, and I even carried a posy of them at our wedding” Lyanna spoke ruefully. In a rush of girlish feeling, Sansa leapt up and hugged her aunt tightly.   
“He was an utter cad to you! To be so wronged! And to think I asked you!?” her exclamations tumbled out in a rush of outraged sympathy. 

“You did nothing wrong in asking, Sansa. But please, remember your promise. Do not tell Jon.” 

It was not until later that night as Sansa unburdened herself and retold the story to her diary (with her own slight flourishes, of course) that she had her final, and greatest revelation. She knew her aunt’s age, and her cousin’s, and she knew the dates of the London season well enough to know that there was no way that her aunt was back in Winterfell nine months before her cousin was born. The months and dates fell into place as she scribbled out a rough timeline in her journal. 

Jon was the son of the strange foreign gentleman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me slightly longer to write and went in a direction I hadn't first intended it, but I like the way it turned out. 
> 
> I've tried to keep Lyanna's back story as close to canon as possible, while still keeping in realistic for the time period. Mr   
Snow won't feature at all in the story, as he died before it begins. Even though he is just written in to keep Lyanna 'respectable' and to explain Jon's change in surname, I have grown weirdly fond of him. I may write a flashback later on just to flesh him out if that is something anyone would be interested in? 
> 
> I don't think I have any particular historical notes for this chapter, but as ever if I have got a detail wrong, please tell me.   
I hope you enjoy the chapter and all the comments so far have been so encouraging! I love hearing from you!!


	11. Arrival at Highgarden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa sets off on a trip to stay with her new friends the Tyrells and takes a chance to explore their house. 
> 
> I also finally get to include a bit more Loras and Renly!   
Warning slight mention of homophobia and lack of acceptance

bout It was decided that while the rest of the family would return straight to Winterfell at the end of the season, Sansa and Bran would stay behind. Bran was left with a few members of staff to run the household since he wished to stay in London. Since their father, Mr Reed had long been friends with Sir Eddard, it was decided that Meera and Jojen could accompany him and save them the cost of renting an apartment. 

Sansa, on the other hand, would travel with the Tyrells’ to their estate and stay there before the ball that would be held there in a few weeks. Catelyn insisted that she write to her at least once a week, and Sansa obliged willingly. Although, of course, she would still be chaperoned during her time at the Tyrells, there was something utterly thrilling about the freedom of the adventure. Best of all, she would get to spend time with the young Miss Tyrell. Even if they did have to chaperoned somewhere Leonette was such a dear, and so young that she could be counted on to be a merry third member of their little party. 

It was also agreed after the end of her time there Bran would travel down to meet her. They would travel together to Oxford, in time for him to settle in for his first term of university. The rest of the family would join them there to wish him well. Mr Snow had promised to come too, as he had only recently finished his university studies himself, although he admitted studying theology was different from natural philosophy. 

But that was all in the future. For now, Sansa was off on an adventure, sat with her lap covered with a blanket sharing strawberries with Margaery. The pair giggled, gloves stuffed into their reticules as they tried to eat without getting stains all over their dresses. 

“Of course,” Margaery told Sansa, in her worldly way, “If you bite a strawberry just so-” the last part of her words was obscured as she nibbled the end of the fruit, delicately holding it by the stalk. 

“It will stain your lips and make you look very pretty and flushed” Sansa, followed suit, mimicking her teacher, and then smacking her lips loudly, causing Margaery to burst out in further giggles. 

“Do you also know”, her friend continued, in a lower voice, trying not to awaken her grandmother who was sitting apparently dosing at the other side of the ample carriage. 

“The reason pink lips look so pretty is that it is a sign to a man that he- “ she lowered her voice further still “- excites you” 

Sansa looked at her intently, desperately trying to seem like she understood. Margaery, however, could tell from her blank look that she had not got her meaning. 

“My dearest Sansa, as a girl who loves poetry so much, surely you understand that flushing and blushing, leads to pouting and sighing, leads to groaning and… “ 

“Yes!” Sansa quickly interjected, swatting away her friend's hand which had been illustrating her meaning by tip-toeing her way up her arm. 

“I understand perfectly well what you mean” she insisted, rather too loudly. Margaery burst out into peals of laughter. Attracted by the noise, her brother rode up to the carriage window. 

“What on earth is going on in here!?” he exclaimed, grinning at his sister and her friend. Before either could answer Loras, Olenna spoke up.

“Your sister has been giving young Miss Stark something of a lesson on the birds and the bees” 

This time both Sansa and Margaery turned bright red, realising she had been listening the whole time. Stunned, Loras was quiet for a second, and then simply laughed, shaking his head and picking up speed again to rejoin Renly, who was also to accompany them to Highgarden. 

“That will teach you to assume that I cannot hear you. I may be old, but I am no fool” Olenna reprimanded them, her voice sharp but a twinkle of mirth in her eyes, that simply caused the girls to burst into further giggles. 

“And now you have thoroughly woken me” the older lady continued, “you may pass me those berries before you finish them all” she held out her hand imperiously, and took the offered fruits, biting one with a regal air and a wicked smile. 

The house they pulled up at took Sansa’s breath away. She had seen her fair share for great houses in her time, but the collonaded front and rows upon rows of great windows created a picture of classical luxury that she had only seen in illustrations. The great gardens she has passed through varied from traditional sculpted gardens to perfectly curated wildernesses. Margaery had tried to point out the various features, the temple of Persephone, the woodsman’s cottage, and Sansa could not wait to explore the great grounds. Winterfell was a stately home of an entirely different nature, solid red Elizabethan brickwork and gardens dominated by great greenhouses, and the vast kitchen gardens. It was a house that had evolved and grown with its residents, but Tyrell’s home was designed and perfectly planned. 

The entrance hall was dominated by a great marble staircase, where two tall portraits hung of a young woman and man painted as though they were greek gods. The style and manner of dress were around 50 years old at least, Sansa guessed, and she realised as they swept passed that the woman was a much younger Olenna. She turned and looked at the older lady who gave her a knowing smile. 

She determined the next day to explore the gardens and set off with a map, roughly sketched by Margaery and a sketchbook. Her first stop was the temple of Persephone. It was in the centre of a glade, overlooking a beautiful babbling brook. It was a domed circular building, with Corinthian columns wrapped in blooming climbing roses which gave off the most heavenly scent. Inside was a small room, with plush silk-covered chaise all around, a small pianoforte in the middle and a ceiling covered with scenes from mythology. She could see Hades bursting from the ground, Demeter with her hands raised to the sky in an act of searching, the cloaked figure of Hecate, and in the centre of it all, the beautiful figure of Persephone herself. Golden light spilt around her, with her arms opened in a gesture of greeting and benefaction, her arms covered in vines- blooming roses like those outside. Even the tiled flooring made out a mosaic of pomegranates and roses. 

After an hour or so of sitting sketching a few of the building itself, from a nearby bench, and a few of the garden from the steps of the ‘temple’, Sansa continued her exploration. It was a warm and pleasant day, and she strode idly through the maze on the property, running her hands over the cool leaves that made up the walls around her. The air was filled with the occasional call of birds, the rustling of leaves while the babble of the brook she had left behind was still just about audible. She closed her eyes and breathed in the air, revelling in the feeling of warmth on her skin and the scent of flowers in the air. Weaving her way through the paths, she felt a girlish impulse to run. After all, no one could see her. She lifted her hem and started to pick up speed. Caught up in the magic of it all she barely noticed the sound of voices, until she stood at the entrance of a clearing, obviously the centre of the maze. 

There was a statue of some greek hero in the centre, but Sansa was far too distracted to work out who it was. For sat on a bench on the other side of the maze, were Loras Tyrell and Renly Baratheon. 

They sat entwined in each other’s arms and utterly oblivious until Sansa let out a small squeak of surprise and ran back the way she had come. Loras turned around just in time to see a wisp of muslin and ginger hair. He looked back at Renly, who swore, turning deathly pale. Loras realised with surprise that his chest was heaving. He tried to give Renly a reassuring smile, 

“At least she didn’t walk in five minutes earlier”, he thought back fondly to the heated embrace they had parted from just moments before the Stark girl arrived. His words seemed to shake Renly from his shock and he got up to run after her. Loras caught his arm, pulling him back. 

“The worst she can do for now is run to my sister,” he said quietly. Renly paused, and managed to stumble out a few words “She’s close with my nephew, what if she tells-”   
He was unable to finish his sentence.   
The clearing of the maze had always been a private spot for the two of them, and the Tyrell residence, in general, was a safe haven for them. The Tyrells were far more understanding than his own family would ever be. 

“We’ll tell her not to. The girl seems pleasant enough from what I’ve met of her. In the worst case, we can tell her she was mistaken, that we are simply friends.” Loras bent over and picked up the discarded sketchbook on the ground, grimacing at the old lie. He flicked through it idly. Renly spoke, thinking aloud,   
“From what I’ve heard about her she’s quite a romantic. Into her classics, and poetry and the like” 

Loras, straightened, up tucking the sketchbook under his arm. “What, tell her that you are the Patroculus to my Achilles”? he teased.   
“I’m Achilles, and you are Patroclus” Renly retorted, without any sort of real bite behind his words. It was an old jest between the two of them. Loras stepped towards him, cravat was rakishly dishevelled. The golden light played through his curls, and Renly felt a surge of adoration rise within him. In his peripheral vision, he could see the marble statue of the perfectly chiselled hero, who was in fact, Adonis. But there was only one god of beauty in his eyes.   
Loras stood so close now he could feel his breath against his cheek, the flutter of his eyelashes. Renly studied his face, leaning his forehead against him. His pulse quickened as Loras worried his lower lip unconsciously, before leaning in to kiss him. The stress of their scare melted away as he deepened the kiss, curling his fingers into Loras’s unruly locks. He broke away from his lips for a second to place gentle kisses along his jawline, revelling at the softness of his clean-shaven face, and nuzzling his neck slightly. The feel of his close-cropped beard against his skin prompted a soft breathy sigh of satisfaction from Loras. He could feel Renly grin at his reaction, before breaking away, holding his face in his hands, his face suddenly serious.   
“You promise that we will sort this out? Talk to her after the surprise has worn off?”  
Loras looked deep into his eyes, getting lost in them, “I promise,” he murmured faintly, “but let us finish here first”, and with that, he claimed his lover’s lips once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the first kiss of this story! Probably not the first one you expected, but with the focus on the Starks, their relationships were always going to be slower to develop. Loras and Renly, however, get to be an established couple!  
I'm not an expert on the treatment of gay couples in this period and laws at the time made 'sodomy' illegal. But I also know that there were couples who were able to live together in relative happiness - the first figure coming to mind being Anne Lister aka Gentleman Jack. I just wanted to write these characters as being able to have some happiness!
> 
> I also just wanted to be able to imagine Renly in this era, because this is the man who came up with the rainbow king's guard, of course, he would embrace this period that was the last hurrah of men's fashion before the Victorians made things all boring. 
> 
> I hope you guys like my portrayal of these two characters in this story, but if I have missed something to do with them in this setting please let me know. 
> 
> I also just wanted to clarify that Sansa's surprise is mostly at walking in on this intimate moment and that I have no intention of going deep into homophobia in this period. 
> 
> On a different note, I've also taken this chapter as a chance to sprinkle a ton of classical references, because the Georgians liked their Greeks and Romans! I love going around stately homes from this period and the temple of Persephone is an amalgamation of various little outbuildings I've seen at them. She's also the goddess of spring and flowers, so fits the Tyrells wonderfully. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always any feedback, criticism or questions is welcome! and thank you so much for all your lovely comments so far, they make my day!


	12. A week at Highgarden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> continuing from the last chapter, Sansa enjoys her time with the Tyrells. 
> 
> Warning- mentions of period era homophobia

rgaery'sSansa had indeed rushed towards the great house looking for Margaery. It was only after she arrived that she remembered that Margaery had gone into town to visit the local village school and bring them treats. Something about the situation filled her with a kind of restless energy, and she found herself in the library. She left a message for Margaery both on her bed and with the footman at the door to come and find her there and tried to distract herself. Usually, she found libraries very distracting places.   
She took a book off the shelf, a reasonably interesting looking volume of old Arthurian romances, but she found herself unable to get more than a few pages in, or follow what she was reading. Her mind raced with questions. 

What exactly had she seen? Did the Tyrells know? Would she get the men into trouble? Could she do her duty as the guest of the Tyrells if she did not tell them? How would Margaery react?   
Most importantly- Was she doing the right thing? 

About an hour later, Margaery entered the room. Sansa stood anxiously by a window. 

“Hello, my love” Margaery spoke quietly.

Sansa turned round, but now she was faced with the situation she was unsure what to say. She stood there dumbstruck for a few seconds before Margaery spoke again. 

“Loras caught me as I was coming back to the house. He told me everything.”

“I see” was Sansa’s faltering reply. 

“I already know that he and Renly are a couple. The whole family knows.” 

Sansa let out a sigh of relief and finally sat down next to her friend, in two comfy armchairs that flanked the currently empty fireplace. 

“I was unsure, you see,” she began to explain, “I didn’t want to get them in trouble”

“Don’t worry, we don’t want to see them in any trouble either,” Margaery answered fondly but firmly.

“So….” Sansa asked falteringly, “are they a couple like a man and wife, or are they simply courting, or?” trying to place the relationship within her own parameters. 

“It doesn’t quite work like that. They won’t ever be able to get married, at least not to each other. But they are very settled with each other if that is your question”

Sansa let out a quiet ‘oh’. Then she smiled, “I’m glad then, that they are happy” 

“There is something else, Sansa” Margaery continued. “They are a couple here in Highgarden. All the family and the servants know and they can keep a low profile here. It is something of an open secret in society around here, but it has never caused any trouble. But there could be. Sansa, the Baratheons do not know, and Renly thinks it would be best if they never did. If they choose to keep it a secret they could strip him of his inheritance and financial support. He is the youngest brother after all. If it becomes public….” 

Her voice grew very sombre “They could lose their positions and face very serious legal consequences. It is unusual, of course, for private relationships to be prosecuted, but there is always a risk.”  
“I see,” Sansa replied 

“You have to swear to me never to tell a soul outside of this house. Not your family, and none of the Baratheons, neither the brothers themselves or their children. Not Shireen or Myrcella, sweet as they are, and definitely not Joffrey or Cersei”

It felt wrong to swear to keep a secret from the man who was supposed to be courting her, but as fond as she was of Joffrey she knew he could not be trusted to keep his mouth closed. After all, it wasn’t her secret. 

“I will swear it” 

“Good girl” Margaery, beamed affectionately. She picked up a book that she had laying beside her. Sansa could see the gold lettering on the spine. It was the bible. 

“Place your hand on it” Margaery instructed. Sansa did so. Suddenly the atmosphere became incredibly solemn. “Do you swear never to tell a soul outside of this house about my brother and Renly?”

“I do” 

“Especially not Joffrey” Margaery added, 

“I do,” Sansa repeated. 

“And do you swear, if asked by any suspicious party to deny all knowledge or possibility of them being a couple”  
This last cause came as something of a surprise to Sansa, but after a seconds pause she replied  
“I do” 

“Good,” Margaery beamed, getting up and putting the book back on the shelf. “I am going to go upstairs and change out of my day things and then we can get ready for dinner. My brother Garlan is going to be back on leave for the week, so there will be dancing” and, with a smile, she dashed out of the room. Sansa soon followed as she was still wearing her things from going around the garden, and the hem of her dress and petticoat were both tinged green for the grass. It would do her good to brush her hair out and bathe too. As she left the library, a movement behind her startled her and she turned to see Loras who had been leaning against the mantle of the door. Unbeknownst to her Renly was watching too, standing in the shadow of the doorway of the smoking room. 

Loras apologised for startling her and then bowed to her deeply, presenting her with her sketchbook. “I believe you dropped this,” he said courteously. It was such a sweet gesture and so gallant that Sansa couldn’t help but blush. “Thank you,” she said, making a small curtsey to him in return. He smiles at her politely, but the mirth did not reach his eyes. Sansa smiled awkwardly back and was about to turn to go up the stairs before it occurred to her that he was probably waiting for some assurance that she would keep his secret. 

“I am sorry for bursting in on you like, I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings” 

“There is nothing to forgive you for” he replied, almost overly courteous, “It was a public enough spot, you had every right to be there” 

“So did you. Both of you. I’m sorry if I have caused you any worry. I will not tell another soul” Sansa replied. This time the smile Loras gave her was genuine. “I am very glad to hear so,” he said, a worry lifting off his chest. In an instinct of glee, he kissed her hand before bounding off to the smoking-room to reassure Renly. They were safe once more. 

They spent the next week most agreeably. Margaery knew all the best walks, and most days they were accompanied by Renly and Loras, although they would often split off. They went along a nearby river one day in the most charming little gondolas- shaped like the ones Sansa had seen in paintings of Venice. Renly, it turned out, had been to the city, and gladly regaled her with stories about it as they sat and picnicked on the hill. Loras teased him about showing off but listened nonetheless. They discussed places they would like to travel to and visit someday. Margaery picked Paris, although stipulating in calmer times. Renly it seemed was already pretty extensively travelled, but he expressed an interest in the new world. Loras just shrugged. Travel held little interest to him but pronounced he would be happy anywhere there was good company. With these words he took Renly’s hand fondly, smiling at him. Margaery and Sansa decided it would be a good point to leave them alone and went to pick flowers instead. 

Occasionally, they were joined by Leonette and her husband Garlan, but they tended to walk behind the main party, keeping a slower pace due to Leonette’s pregnancy, which was just starting to be visible. They were also joined in the evenings by Willas, who kept mostly to himself during the day helping his father run the estate and pursuing his academic interests.   
He did occasionally join them on horse rides, and on his slightly modified saddle, he cut a fine figure. Sansa thought that he was a charming man, perhaps not quite so handsome as the beautiful Loras, but just as handsome as Garlan. He was a better conversationalist than his brother too. She thought back to her friend’s one-time suggestion that she allow him to pay her court. It was well meant she was sure, but she was already quite happy with Joffrey. Besides, she suspected that Willas held an affection for a local girl, Desmera, who had joined them for dinner one evening. That evening neither she nor Willas had said much to anyone other than each other. She was invited to the ball too, and Sansa suspected her presence was the main thing Willas was looking forward to. Olenna might consider her a more prestigious match as a Stark. Desmera was only some sort of distant cousin from a slightly poorer branch of the family. Sansa, however, had no intention of breaking up the budding romance. 

The day of the ball finally arrived. Sansa was filled with butterflies of anticipation all day. Around lunchtime, the Baratheons arrived, as they were to stay the night at the house. She saw little of them before they departed from their rooms, although Myrcella and Gendry both gave a friendly wave. She was disappointed Joffrey didn’t but she reasoned he must simply be tired from the journey. 

Although they invited Myrcella to get ready with them, she declined and so Margery and Sansa sat in the former’s room to get ready. Margaery sat Sansa down at her dresser and insisted she let her dress her hair. She brushed it out first, admiring the long red tresses as they caught the candlelight.   
“Your hair is such a beautiful colour, Sans. And so straight, there is barely a tangle in it.” 

“I would rather have curls like yours, you never have to wear papers at night.” Sansa pulled a face, with Margaery caught in the mirror with a chuckle, “besides red hair means there are some colours I cannot wear. Imagine me in pink! I’d look like a lobster”   
This time Margaery chuckled even louder. She gently brushed the curls Sansa had set at the front with paper, before applying a softly scented product to help them hold their shape and shine. She swept up the back into a soft psyche knot, before arranging the curls so some framed Sansa’s face and the rest effortlessly into the back. She slid in a silver comb into the back, one her own which Sansa had often admired. Then she arranged three lines of beads into a headband, two strands of silver and one of pearls.   
When Margaery's own hair was finished, with the help of Sansa and a maid, she slid matching accessories in gold into it.

They made a sweet picture. Their dresses were made in similar styles, both satin covered in a coloured gauze and trimmed with ribbons edged in gold and silver and delicate embroidery along the neckline. Sansa wore pale lilac coloured trimmed in silvery tones, while Margaery’s was a pale but rich blue, trimmed with gold. Margaery then reached into her drawer taking out a small box. 

“This,” she announced, “is a present for you, a token of our friendship” Sansa opened the box in delight revealing a delicate silver and gold brooch set with five twinkling stones.   
“It spells your name” Margaery pronounced, delighted her gift was a success. “I saw the idea and thought it was utterly charming” she pointed at each of the stones, “These are sapphires, and these are amethyst, and the middle is made out of mother of pearl, which is also called Nacre” 

Sansa gasped in delight and twisted the box around to catch the light. Suddenly she closed it,   
“How can I accept this? I have no grand present for you”, indeed she thought of the set of ribbons she had bought with her, intending to give as a parting gift to her host. They had seemed so charming at the time, but they paled in comparison to this. 

“Nonsense,” Margaery insisted firmly “It could hardly go to anyone else. After all, it does have your name on it”   
Coaxed round, Sansa allowed her to pin it onto the front of her dress. She traced it with her finger. “I shall cherish it forever” she pronounced, sweeping her friend into a tight hug.   
“And I hope you think of our friendship every time you wear it” Margaery replied lightly, giving her a gay kiss on the cheek. She took a step back, 

“And now, I think, you are ready to dance the night away” with a slight giggle, they took each other’s hands and headed down to join the rest of the family and be ready to greet the soon to arrive guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the regency period, 'buggery-sodomy' was an illegal act, and could and was punished, subject to the death penalty up to 1861. I've tried to allude to this reality in this chapter while still trying to keep a reasonably light tone. I want Loras and Renly to be happy in this, and despite the laws there were gay men who were able to live their lives in relative peace. But scandal was something that could and did affect men even in the highest ranks of society (women being gay was something far less talked about, and didn't fall under the parameters of laws such as the Buggery act). If you are interested in this topic- these two articles were both really interesting reading 
> 
> http://www.riskyregencies.com/2017/06/28/queer-in-the-regency-a-slice-of-once-hidden-lgbt-history/  
https://about1816.wordpress.com/2015/06/02/the-detestable-crime-sodomy-in-the-late-regency/
> 
> On a far more frivolous topic, the dress I think best encapsulates the vibe I'm trying to go for in this scene   
https://candicehern.com/regencyworld/evening-dress-october-1811/
> 
> Also, Acrostic brooches were a thing! the examples I found tended to spell out set romantic phrases like 'dearest', but I thought a name would also make sense. I love Margaery and Sansa's friendship and her generosity is one of my favourite characteristics of Marg. Although this fic isn't Sansa x Margaery I would love to write their pairing someday, and reading over this chapter I did realise I'd given them ~slight~ romantic vibes. 
> 
> The ball will come next chapter 
> 
> As always your comments are super welcome and always lovely to read!!


	13. The Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of the Ball at the Tyrells. Told mostly from Sansa's point of view, as we see her growing closer to Joffrey.   
Margaery enjoys the freedom of the Ball unattached, but in the back of her mind, the pressure from her family to find a good husband is ever-present.

The already beautiful house was transformed. Festoons of flowers were wrapped around the bannisters and the great chandeliers in the ballroom were fully lit, throwing glittering light on the guests, bouncing off brooches and gems in ladies hair. It was like they were back in London at the height of the season. Sansa stood at the entrance of the room, with the family, greeting the guests, many of whom were new to her. After each group had passed, with the customary bows and enquiries about her family’s health Margaery and Loras provided commentary on each of them.   
There were two groups of Fossoways- who both despised each other. There was a Sir Hightower, a handsome older man who Margaery informed her was once refused by a lady after he broke wind in her presence. He seemed to have found a wife since, a pretty kindly lady whose eyes wrinkled as she smiled. There were the Tarlys, but only two of their children made up the party. The name seemed somewhat familiar to Sansa but she couldn’t place where from. Their eldest son was absent and estranged from his father. Margaery pronounced that Dickon Tarly would be an excellent catch if only he were the elder son, and, seeing his handsome face and charming manners, Sansa couldn’t help but agree. She did, however, feel sorry for his absent brother, whose father seemed to curse him at any given opportunity. There was Mr and Mrs Merryweather, who was one of the most handsome ladies Sansa had ever seen, buxom and jangling with jewellery, and their young son, as well as enough Tyrell cousins and relations to fill the room all by themselves. A few familiar faces were among them, including Elinor. She was announced for the first time as Mrs Ambrose and glowed with the pride of a recent bride. Sansa admired her ring and offered her congratulations to the grinning couple, who basked in the attention. They thanked the Tyrells for their wedding gift and Sansa too for her small contribution, a small pretty music box. 

Then came the guests she had been most excited to see, the Baratheons. She gave Gendry a quick supportive smile, as he stood slightly behind the others. He grimaced slightly. Balls were bad enough but even worse when you knew almost no one. Loras gave a tiny wave to Renly, who stood with his brother’s family. He wished, not for the first time, that the great crowd would go away and leave them alone together. He supposed that seeing Renly in his full dress uniform at least partly made up for it. It didn’t seem possible, but somehow all the other people in the room only seemed to make him more handsome. 

Loras also caught sight of his grandmother’s pointed look. He scowled for a second, thinking it was directed at him, before realising it was for his sister beside him. He elbowed her slightly,   
“Is that about…?” she trod on his toe sharply to get him to be quiet.   
“Don’t say another word”, she hissed, gesturing her head at Sansa, who was flirting with Joffrey while he requested the first dance from her.   
“Well you’ve got no hopes with him,” Loras murmured, “It’ll have to be the other one”

Margaery cast a despairing glance at Gendry who stood slightly stiffly next to Renly. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell Sansa that she was being pushed to try and marry at least one of the Baratheon heirs. Of course, on paper, it would make them sisters-in-law, but she simply couldn’t imagine herself as a wife to Mr Gendry Baratheon. He was a sweet enough boy but suited to a far more down-to-earth lifestyle than she would ever wish to lead. He had plenty of money, but unlike her grandmother, she suspected even her powers of persuasion would come unstuck trying to coax him into becoming a man of influence. 

“I’ll just have to find some other super-rich family of influence to please Grandma since you’ve taken the only other eligible Baratheon,” she spoke in an even lower tone than before, trying to remain discrete. Loras practically preened at her words and gave a smug smile. 

“Well that is one man you won’t be able to coax away” he pronounced. 

With all the guests arrived, the beginning of the ball was announced by their father, Mr Mace Tyrell, and the band began to strike up its starting notes. As the young master and mistress of the house, Loras and Margaery formed the first couple. Mace insisted that he was too old to dance, and Leonette refrained on account of her pregnancy. Instead, she settled herself in a corner of the card room, where she held court, waited on by her doting husbands and congratulating friends. She was quite happy, therefore to let Margaery take on the role of lady of the house.

Renly as their guest, formed half of the second couple, asking his niece to dance with him. Myrcella, who was still a little morose from events in London seemed to cheer up at this prominent position. Slightly further down the order stood a beaming Sansa with Joffrey, and even further down stood Gendry, slightly awkwardly standing with a partner who seemed to know everyone else in the room but him. 

With a grand gesture from Mace Tyrell, the minuet began. The swirling dancers caught the candlelight, and even through her gloves every touch seemed electric to Sansa. Joffrey was an excellent dancer and didn’t put a step wrong. Every second he was near seemed to freeze time, and yet the dance was over far too soon. Quickly her card for the evening filled up. She danced with almost every gentleman in the room. Loras was still the best dancer among the men, as he had been among their smaller party during the week. She danced with him several times and thoroughly enjoyed it. He was a showy expressive dancer but still managed to be an attentive partner. Every move and step seemed to come naturally to him, and he seemed to have an almost exhaustive knowledge of every possible piece of music or slight variety in form. Pleasant as dancing in such a splendid setting was, however, Loras couldn’t help but feel that the small dances they had held after supper during the week had been better. Even though they were only held in the drawing-room, at least there he was able to dance with Renly. Now they barely saw each other in the whirl of the room, although every few dances they retired to the cards room, where they ostensibly waited for a table to become free or a game to end so they could at least talk a little. 

In the main room, Margaery was the queen of the evening. She had her choice of partners. For her grandmother’s sake, she danced with both Gendry and Joffrey at least twice each. Neither seemed to pay her any particular court, but she was far from bereft of attention. Almost every unmarried man in the room seemed to clamour to get a glimpse of her winning smile, and a few of the married ones too. Once again she found herself wishing that Dickon Tarly was his father’s heir. 

Sansa also had an enchanted evening, swept up in the romance of seeing her Beau. She agreed, a little reluctantly, to be Gendry’s partner for the supper dance, so that he could be assured of a companion that he knew to talk to during the meal after. From where they sat she could see Joffrey out of the corner of her eye, who was sitting with one of the poorer Tyrell cousins. To Sansa’s satisfaction, he paid little attention to her, staying just on the acceptable side of politeness. 

Gendry asked after the rest of Sansa’s family. She replied that they seemed well from her mother's letters, and added a little slyly that she had heard little from Arya, and that he ought to write to her if he was curious. Gendry seemed to colour at this, stumbling that he had simply meant to ask after the family in general. He was saved however by Myrcella, who was sat across the table from them, next to Renly. Wishing to move the topic away from the Starks and any possible mention of Robb, she announced plans for a grand trip abroad.

Now that most of Europe was far more settled, it was planned for her to go on a tour of all its great cities and places. Renly had offered to chaperon her at least part of the way and be her guide among his beloved Italian cities. For the whole trip, she would be accompanied by her great aunt, Mrs Frey, nee Lannister, as the youngest of her sons was now old enough to be a university, and she longed to return to the great palaces and places of Europe. 

Sansa noted with amusement, that many of the dates of their trip coincided with periods that she knew Loras had vaguely mentioned that he was free, and wondered if he would be taken by the sudden urge to visit Rome when their party just happened to be passing through. 

The rest of the dinner was spent discussing the places Myrcella looked forward to visiting. They focused mainly on the topic of Italy, as Renly’s pet favourite. It was an ideal topic, as Gendry found he had plenty of questions to ask and companions who answered them without looking down on him at all. He admitted that although history held little interest to him, his training as a craftsman, though it seemed a lifetime ago now, meant he could appreciate the skill and craftsmanship that they described. 

After the supper tables were cleared and the crowd returned to the ballroom, Sansa hoped to dance once more with Joffrey, but after the first few dances, he disappeared. Swallowing her disappointment she allowed herself to be swept up in the party, being introduced more properly to the Tyrell’s friends. Then, in between dances as she sat talking with the newly married Ambroses, she was approached by a footman. He begged her pardon and passed on an invitation from Mr J Baratheon for her to join him in the card room.   
Sansa looked excitedly around the room. Her partners for the next two dances were Loras and Renly, both of whom were conspicuously absent, and after that, it was Joffrey’s name in her book. She took her leave of Mr and Mrs Ambrose, requesting gaily that Elinor write to her if there was any further happy news. 

In the card room Joffrey was sat with some gentlemen she didn’t know, and to her delight had already saved a space for her. He beamed at her as she sat down, and gestured for a waiting servant to bring them both a glass of wine, adding “You must be parched from all that dancing” gallantly. 

Sansa gratefully took the cup. It was a slightly stronger wine than she was used to, and she sipped it delicately, while Joffrey took a great swig of his.  
He introduced his company- the Kettleback brothers, Mr Payne and his cousin Mr Lionel Frey. Sansa wondered idly how they had gotten into this event of mostly local families. One of the Kettlebacks began to shuffle the cards and deal them out. Sansa’s forehead crinkled in confusion,  
“Am I not playing” 

Joffrey coloured in annoyance for a second before calming,   
“No, my dear, for we are a regular set of players. I hope that you might sit and keep me company, and be my lucky charm for the night”- he gave her hand a gentle kiss. 

One of the Kettleback brothers- the one who had dealt the cards broke in,   
“Nothing better for your luck than a beautiful lady.” He guffawed. Something about the way he said the words made Sansa slightly uncomfortable. Joffrey shot him an annoyed look, before returning his attention to Sansa. He did look very handsome in the dying candlelight, and the heat of the room bought out all the rosiness in his lips and cheeks. She nodded shyly and offered no further protest. 

The men began their game. Despite her best attempts to pay attention, and perhaps because of the heavy wine she was drinking, she found the game difficult to follow. She could follow that they were making frequent bets and that the dealer was overseeing the gameplay, but the details escaped her. After a while she gave up trying to follow the play and simply enjoyed sitting there, giving her aching feet a rest. It wasn’t until the music changed for a third time that she remembered that they were due to dance. She whispered this to Joffrey, who replied rather offhandedly,   
“I would rather play cards than dance. Haven’t we danced enough tonight?” 

“If you don’t wish to dance I shan’t make you, but I have promised to partner others this evening, and I cannot stand them up”   
He sighed and moved closer to Sansa, so close she could feel his lips against her skin as he whispered in a low voice,   
“If you wish to dance with other men, you may. But I hoped that you might stay with me this evening. After all, I shan’t see you for months from now. Besides, you wouldn’t want to show me up in front of my friends” 

Flattered but still a little guilty about standing up her other partners, Sansa was torn for a moment. She turned and looked at Joffrey. There was something about the heat of the room, and the warmth of the wine that made her want to stay with him, the gold of his hair shone in the light and his full lips curled in a smile that was equal parts inviting and arrogant. She smiled at him and called over a servant asking them to inform Margaery that she wished to spend the rest of the evening in the card room and to let down any potential partners for her. The man was about to walk away when Joffrey called after him, “and another cup of wine for us all”.   
His card partners cheered loudly, but Joffrey simply smiled at her. As she sat in the crowded card room, admired by all and flushed with wine, she felt a wave of tiredness wash over her. She looked around her, but no one seemed to be paying their particular table much attention. Larger games were being played, and most seemed absorbed in their conversations. She reasoned that since their table was in something of an alcove she was unlikely to be seen by anyone. She succumbed to her tiredness, leaning affectionately against Joffrey. After a minute or so leaning against his arm, he insisted on them moving to get more comfortable. It would also mean that she wouldn’t get in the way of his cards. She obliged and from her new vantage point, half snuggled against his chest, she could smell the scent he was wearing, warm with hints of Bergamot. She could feel the blood as it pumped hotely under her skin, and it only seemed to quicken as under the table she felt a soft hand on her gently resting on her leg. It was only an inch or so above her knee, but Joffrey’s fingers gently massaged her legs, brushing against her inner leg. As she looked down she realised his hand was still bare, having taken off his gloves to play cards. Her heart seemed to stop for a minute. There was something so thrilling about it, but she had not lost all sense of propriety. She brushed him off discreetly and shifted her weight back, leaning back on her own chair. Joffrey pouted so comically at this, she could not help but giggle softly. She took his bare hand in her gloved one affectionately. She pressed his palm against her lips, thrilled by the feeling of his warm and slightly rough skin under her lips. He untangled his hand from hers and held her face. His green-blue eyes looked into hers, as his thumb brushed against her soft cheek slowly and deliberately. His gaze was affectionate but there was something almost burning underneath it. It lasted only a moment, after all, anyone might see them. Yet as she went to bed that night, slightly dizzy and warm from the wine and the dancing, that slow-burning look and the memory of that bare warm hand echoed in Sansa’s tired, sleeping mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tried to keep the events of this ball as close to what my research suggests about Regency Balls. Sansa and Joffrey's little cuddle at the end is definitely a little improper, but I want to show how Sansa is getting swept away in the romance of it all. I also really struggled writing Joffrey as more of a romantic figure, and I think in this story he is turning out into more of a likeable figure than the original story. In some ways, he's becoming more like Draco than Joffrey, in that he still has a very dislikeable side, but he is more selfish than as actively cruel as he is in the books. My defence of this is that in this universe he hasn't been raised as the heir to the throne, and so while he is spoilt, he doesn't have the same level of power and control over his peers. I also don't think Sansa is a complete fool, and since she is older in this story I think her judgement has to be at least a little better.   
I hope I've balanced the line between his unpleasantness and his attraction..?
> 
> Any questions and comments would be welcome as always!


	14. A wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya travels to Bath for the wedding of Mrs Lysa Arryn, widow and Mr Peter Baelish. She tries to make the best out of a dull week and makes a new friend.

Arya found the trip to Oxford slightly dull, and the trip back even worse. Bran talked the whole way about the works he was excited to be studying, and as enthusiastic as he was, Arya was quite glad when he was distracted by his new rooms at the college. His room was among the eaves and his leather desk, worn with age and the scribblings of generations of students, was pressed against a window with a view of the roofs of Oxford. Catelyn ensured the apartment was furnished with all he might need and made him promise to make sure to never to let his fire burn too low, especially in the winter. 

The journey back meant listening to Sansa recount her trip to the Tyrells. Despite her excitement, it seemed to Arya that little of note had happened. It seemed all she had done was dance and go on day-trips, which was all to be expected and nothing exciting. Then there was her sister’s account of the ball. Sansa was never one to discard her pocketbook, and so was able to recount in perfect order every man she had danced with. Meticulously she had marked next to each of them the dance they had performed and the music and how much she enjoyed the dance. By the end of her spiel, even Catelyn seemed a little weary of the minutiae of the evening. 

As they got closer and closer to Winterfell the countryside grew wilder. Arya grinned as their great home emerged from the dense trees in the grounds. It was a beautiful old house, with various wings all growing out of a great medieval castle, the only remaining part of the great fortress that had once stood there. The ground was already crisp with frost when they stepped out of the carriage, despite the bright sun, and it was a perfect autumn to come home too.   
Her reunion with the north seemed over far too soon, as in a few months she was back riding south again, with Jon to keep her company on the ride. The rest of the family would be travelling a few days behind, allowing them to stop at Rickon’s school and check on him. It was only as a bridesmaid that Arya was sent on ahead. Which would mean a full week with her aunt in Bath. Jon would be in town too, at least, visiting a friend of his, a Mr Tarly. He was a sweet man and an old friend from university. He had stuck out like a sore thumb- a southern English man in a Scottish university- as he had gone as far from his family as possible. There were a few Southerners there but they had an elitist view of themselves that Tarly didn’t fit. It left poor Sam stuck between the groups. It meant that his friendship with Jon, who was also a misfit of sorts with his unusual background and stony exterior, was all the stronger. They were both members of the clergy, with Tarly priest of a small parish on the edge of the city. He was writing a book, a history of some sort, and had requested that Jon come down and give him some advice on the work. 

Even though Arya found Sam a little bookish, she was sure Jon would have far more fun than she would. Robyn was Rickon’s age, but mopey and dull and his mother was even worse. Furthermore, she would be spending the week with a practical stranger. She was around Arya’s age and some relation to their uncle’s wife- Roslin. However, there were so many Frey girls that Arya struggled to keep track of which ones she did and didn’t know. Her heart sank as she imagined the strange girl as a simpering, giggling flirt. 

As the carriage pulled up outside of the fashionable residence of the Arryn family- right in the very heart of Bath, Arya saw a strange girl standing with the family, who must have been her companion for the week. Jon wished her the best, and still out of sight of her hosts she grimaced. He laughed,  
“If they get too insufferable, then we are a short ride away. I’m sure Sam won’t mind you taking shelter under his roof.”   
Arya thought she might end up taking him up on that offer sooner rather than later. 

“Arya,” Lysa said simply by way of greeting, giving her an awkward hug. “Aunt Lysa,” she replied, in an equally dull tone.   
Her uncle-to-be gave her no real greeting other than a disinterested nod. 

They paraded back into the house. Mr Baelish returned to his study, arm in arm with his fiancee. Robyn was playing toy soldiers in the drawing-room with a tetchy looking nursemaid. Even from the hall, she could hear the boy tell the poor girl that she was playing the game wrong, and that her men were in the wrong place. No one told her where to go, and her luggage, taken inside by the coachman, was abandoned by the door. The Frey girl gave her a look of sympathy. 

“We better take it up ourselves, Mrs Arryn doesn’t like anyone other than the family ordering the servants around,” she spoke in a hushed voice, gesturing for Arya to follow her up the stairs. As they ascended she grew more cheery. 

“I expect you are used to great townhouses like this. Father’s the younger son of the third son, and grandfather’s remarried, so we get quite forgotten about. We’ve visited Rosy at her big house before, and the town there was quite big- but other than that this is my first time in a real city.” 

“Cities are alright, I guess. They tend to have some capital spots for riding and interesting people, but they are mostly balls and shopping.” 

“Oh,” Walda replied, pulling a face. Encouraged Arya continued, 

“And there is always someone telling you that you aren’t sitting properly, or that you ought to have read this or that book. Or that your dress, which is perfectly tidy, isn’t right as it was made last year.” 

Walda looked slightly worried, “all my dresses were made last year.”

Arya looked at her, as she put down the bags with a huff outside one of the bedroom doors. She was pretty enough, with fair skin and a smattering of freckles on her nose. She was shorter than Arya and had a sweet round heart-shaped face, but slightly crooked teeth and mousy hair. Still, flushed from the exercise of carrying the bags, and with some of her wispy waves floating around her face, she made a charming picture, if not a beautiful one. 

“I expect you’ll get away with it. Since Sansa, my sister, is so perfect I always get held to impossible standards, ” 

“At least you’ve got a sister, I’ve just got brothers, and they never get told to act in a more ladylike way.”   
Walda pulled a face at this, and Arya got a distinct impression that they were going to get along. 

All that week they sat together at the other end of the table of the soon-to-be Baelishes. Robyn sat with them occasionally, and he was tolerable in small doses. Usually, he sat with his mama, however, allowing Walda to make the most out of her wicked sense of humour. She was a natural mimic and could imitate Lysa’s posture and mannerism so naturally that no one, other than Arya, would notice. The challenge was to keep a straight face as she spouted the most ridiculous things in her aunt's voice. If Arya broke and was questioned by Lysa, it was even worse as Walda would join in, fixing her with a manic gaze and asking repeatedly, 

“What is the matter, girl! Is something funny, girl!?” 

The best trip of the week was to the baths. After seeing what was left of the roman site they visited the modern-day baths, the girls staying in the ladies room while Lysa went off for private treatments. 

“You know Minerva, the goddess in the statue we saw earlier,” Walda said, “Well in her roman form she’s mostly interested in weaving and arts and crafts,” she pulled a face as if to say, ‘how dull’   
“But in her greek form, she was combined with Bellona to make Athena. And she was the female goddess of war! Men were all very good and the violence and stuff but the strategy were all for women. She went around with a group of women who never had to get married. The best thing was being one of her servants was as high status as getting married.”   
“Like Artemis,” Arya replied, thinking back to her lessons.   
“Exactly!”   
“Well, since I cannot sew at all, I could hardly serve Athena. And you are more patient than I am, so you shall serve Athena,” Arya decided, “and I shall serve Artemis, and I’ll run around all day with hunting dogs. And neither of us shall never have to bother with husbands and marriage again”   
It seemed a pleasant alternate future to the both of them, 

“You know that some people call Athena Pallas,” Walda continued,   
Arya nodded,   
“Well, I was told that it was because during the war with the giants she killed a giant called Pallas in a great battle. He had wanted to marry her, and so she had a double reason to hate him. After she killed him she then skinned him her greatsword, and then took the giant’s skin all dripping with blood and had it tanned into leather. And then she wore it as a great cape to protect her, and would lend it to heroes, who would be invincible in it.” 

Arya pulled a disgusted but thrilled face at the idea of wearing the skin of an unwanted suitor. When they rejoined the rest of the group any talk of skinning was out of the question. If Robyn heard them he was sure to cry to his mama at the unpleasant talk. Instead, they had to politely listen to Lysa and Mr Baelish. Arya was unsure who was worse.  
Lysa’s favourite topics were complaining about the need to donate to maintain the room in the baths for the poor and belittling other women’s outfits. She declared them either all too simple or too flamboyant, too low-cut or too unattractive. Young women seemed to all look like matrons, and old women seemed to dress like they thought they were young still. Arya and Walda both privately agreed that Lysa combined both of these traits, dressing in the brightest colours and fashions but still somehow looking very fussy.   
Mr Baelish, on the other hand, would talk about his business, or try and ingratiate himself with the girls, in a way that made them simply uncomfortable. Worse still were his frequent questions about how her mother and sister did, remarks about how much he admired them, or how he wished that Sansa had been available to join them. It seemed that he was unaware that his wife had not even asked her. 

At least twice she and Walda excused themselves to visit Jon and his friend, Mr Sam Tarly. The latter they found to be a very sweet man. He was shy and bashful, frequently blushing, but always friendly. He seemed to be the best kind of vicar, attentive and actually interested in his congregation, and also a voracious reader. He must have been one of the few society gentlemen Arya had ever met who used his library. It was one of the biggest rooms in his house, and kept in a manner that seemed a perfect mess to any stranger, but with some system that made sense in his mind only.   
They also found it very endearing how Mr Tarly would talk about one of his parishioners, a young woman he was obviously in love with. She was a young widow who lived with her father, and although she was the youngest of a whole brood of girls and likely completely dowryless, Sam had concluded that she was completely above him. 

When they attended service at his church that Sunday, they were pleased to see that the young woman in question seemed equally enraptured with him. She seemed to be the only one of her family who listened to Sam’s sermon- which was intelligent if a little too rambling to follow clearly at parts. After the service Walda and Arya decided to seek her out, linking arms with her and walking around the church grounds. They did their best to charm her, cooing at her baby and insisting that she come to tea with them. Of course, this would also include coming to tea with Mr Tarly. Jon watched their antics with amusement, staying above them in theory, but also joining them on the impromptu walk they decided to go on after tea while insisting that Mrs Gilly stay and rest with her child. 

They giggled their way down the country avenue, finding a pretty spot where they could perch on a tree and chat.   
“Give me a leg up,” Arya demanded to Jon, who rolled his eyes and did so anyway. She scrambled up to one of the higher branches,   
“Your mother would not be best pleased with me for letting you make a spectacle of yourself,” he commented archly, 

“My mother isn’t here,” Arya replied,   
“And hardly counts as a spectacle if there are no spectators to see it,” Walda finished, perched on a lower branch, and resting her feet on the stone country wall. Jon laughed, he could at least see when he was outnumbered. When they returned to the house several hours later, Mr Tarly and young Gilly were sat in the library, with young baby Sam sat on the vicar’s knee while he read aloud to his mother. It was a darling domestic scene, and Walda pronounced on the carriage ride back to the Arryn residence that she would be damned if there wasn’t a proposal soon. 

Arya was sure that any wedding involving Mr Tarly would be far more pleasant than the upcoming nuptials. Her family arrived at the end of the week, and they, along with seemingly half of Bath, filtered into the great cathedral. The expense of the service was obvious. Walda and Arya were both trussed up in layers upon layers of the finest fabrics, with great turbans of bright silk on their head, festooned with both expensive myrish lace and ribbon.   
Arya doubted that even if Sansa had been picked for the honour of being a bridesmaid, that she could have made the outfit attractive. The bride herself was dressed in pale golden silk, embroidered with metal threads and accompanied by copious amounts of jewels and brightly coloured trims in all shades of blue and green. To make matters even more bizarre her groom was dressed somberly (while still expensively) and looked completely out of place beside her. 

The wedding did mean, to her relief, that she could move back in with her family, in their smaller residence. They were very rarely in Bath and so rented a house there. Arya insisted that Walda come and stay with them, and since the wedding was over Lysa happily agreed. They spent a pleasant few days there before returning north, making Walda pledge to write and inviting her to share the season with them next summer in London, a proposition she seemed very excited about. 

As the carriage rumbled along the familiar great road up towards the north Arya happily settled down for winter in her home. Now, she hoped matters would become far more settled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Walda Frey here is *technically* not an original character, as there are plenty of Frey girls and family connections (eg the exact nature of her relation to Roslin and two brothers) are based off 'White Walda' the daughter of Rhaegar Frey and Jeyne Beesbury. But pretty much the only thing we know about her is that she becomes an orphan during a 'Dance of Dragons'. So she is basically my own character. I wanted to give Arya another female friend and introduce another character who is less concerned with weddings and marriage. 
> 
> I've got to do a chapter in Bath! which is sacred austen territory, which is fun. I also did a bit of research as to what was actually around in Bath and 1813 a major statue of Minerva had been found and throughout the period there were baths for taking the water split into a men's room, a ladies room and a poor room (essentially run through donations) as well as a private treatment room. 
> 
> I also wanted to include Sam and Gilly, who will only be minor characters but I thought it would be fun to include. The tarly family won't be main characters but I will continue to follow them along through the story- so keep an eye out for them! 
> 
> Finally I decided on pale gold for Lysa's wedding dress as she is married not long after Princess Charlotte. If you've never heard of her, she was the heir to the throne and very popular among the people. After a whole debacle over her being able to marry a man of her choice she got her 'fairy tale' ending, with the help of her mother who was separated from her father George IV, only to die in childbirth a year later. Her death is what caused the succession confusion which made Victoria heir. She is a really interesting and often forgotten figure, but was very popular and fashionable at the time and she wore gold brocade to her wedding. So Lysa is imitating her. 
> 
> Thank You for all your wonderful comments so far, and I hope you enjoy!


	15. Letters from the Front

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters sent to and from Robb Stark as he travels across the North of Spain as part of the peninsular war.

Robb Stark to Winterfell, Late September 

Dear all, 

Have settled down in the regiment. Our Captain is a good sort and spends a lot of time among us lower officers. He is also of good Northern stock, which is nice among all the southern officers. We are making our way across the North of Spain, and we hope to be in the Pyrenees before Christmas.   
Most of the men are well behaved, although drink often and say words that would make even Arya colour.   
I have done my best to fit but avoid any serious gambling, although I am discovering I am pretty good at cards. My kit is still pretty much new and has seen no real action. There has been the occasional scramble along the column but nothing that has affected us. The weather is intense, however, with all the kit we carry. I am very glad that I get to ride most of the time. Never thought that I would miss the snow so much.   
Will write as soon as there is any news. Sending all my Love 

Robb

\---   
Winterfell to Robb Stark, Early October 

My darling Robb, 

Can you give us the name of your Captain, your father thinks that he may know the family? I know you do not wish to rely on his connections, but all the other officers have done and will do the same. I am very glad to hear that you are safe. Promise me that you won’t end up playing cards for money or position.   
I remember the country that you are travelling through from my own time in Europe as a much younger girl- it is both wild and beautiful. Although you are there to do a job I am glad you get to see it too. I know you cannot help it, but I hope that the great churches and buildings of the area will survive this war, and one day you will be able to travel and get to see them properly.

Sansa and Arya have had something of an argument over their accounts of their time down south. It seems they have both met brothers from a split household and that Arya has taken the side of one and Sansa the side of another. The older brother (a friend of your cousin) has just got engaged to a woman his father thinks is unsuitable and is threatening to disinherit him, which would allow that younger brother to take up his fortune instead. Arya thinks it is most unfair on the older boy, while Sansa is fond of the younger man. Hopefully, your cousin will return soon and settle the matter. Both girls tend to listen to his opinion. In the meantime, we are in our own little warzone!

Bran sends his love from university. He says it is wonderful and that you would have hated it. I am a little unsure of that myself, but I expect if you had gone your first letter would not be detailing how you disagree with your tutor’s interpretation of Cicero.   
Rickon also seems to have settled more at school, which is a relief. 

Write to me regularly 

All my love Mama 

P.S your father has just arrived and sends his love 

Hello Robb,   
Glad to hear everything is well. Hope the war will be over soon. Seems an age since you were home. Very proud of you my boy, 

Love Ned 

Please find included the letters from the girls-   
\---   
Dearest Robb, 

I have little to tell you about life at home since I have got back from the ball at the Tyrells. I wish you were there, I’m sure you would have been one of the handsomest men there, especially in your uniform, and would have been proud to be your sister.   
Arya is very angry at me at some off-hand comment I made wishing that Dickon Tarly was his father’s heir for Marg’s sake. He is so very handsome and charming and I suspect if he had a better income he would be the perfect match for her. Arya has taken this to mean that I think that their father has been fair to the elder Mr Tarly, who she met in Bath. She got very angry and refused to listen to me when I tried to explain. I refuse to explain when she is the one who has taken everything so ridiculously!

I am glad to hear that you are safe, and look forward to seeing you again. Perhaps at some point, we will be able to meet your fellow officers! What families do they come from? Are they very handsome? 

Yours eternally,   
Sansa 

\---  
Robb, 

Sansa is being unbearable. Insulted poor Sam, who is Jon’s friends and such a sweet man! I am so glad to be back from Auntie’s wedding. Sansa has sketched an image of the ridiculous outfit I had to wear. I will include it in this letter and you can see how funny I looked. Still mad at her. 

Tell me when you have killed your first man. I shall be proud to be the sister of an active soldier. If you can send me a memento. It seems very grand and dramatic!!

Come back soon, it is boring alone, 

Arya 

P.S when have you known me to blush at any language? Try me 

\---   
From Eastwatch cottage to Robb Stark, mid-October 

Dear Robb, 

I am now back in the North and well glad of it. I stayed in Bath long enough to see my friend Sam married. It was a sweet small affair. It makes one wish for some marital bliss for myself. It is nice to see my mother again. She seems very well. The weather here is windy and wild, but I am glad to not be in the heat of Spain.   
I have managed to sort out the argument between your sisters. They seem to have settled that both brothers are good men deserving of riches and that Mr Tarly is a terrible father. While I have never had the misfortune of meeting the man in person, I agree with this assessment.  
It seems that Sansa’s trip down south has only consolidated her attachment to Joffrey Baratheon. I cannot help but detest the man, but I try to keep quiet about the matter for her sake. I feel that you would do the same, and am trying to be a brother to her in your absence. Perhaps if you were here things would be different 

Try not to get shot, 

Jon 

\---   
From Robb Stark to Winterfell, mid-late October 

Dear Mama 

My officer is a Manderly - Cpt. Albert Manderly and he is a good man, strict but well-liked by the men. I will also remind you that I wish to make my own career here. We had our first proper skirmish and I received a commendation for keeping the men in line during an ambush. I hope this is a sign of good things to come.   
I am certain that if I had gone to university that I would not be up in arms over Cicero, you are quite right. I am glad to hear that Bran has settled down.   
We are playing cards most evening, but while we are travelling it is mostly to pass the time. Once we rejoin the whole army we will be back in proper officers barracks. I do miss a proper bed. At least I only share my tent with one other- another lieutenant named Tom who is a good laugh.   
I miss the comforts of home and shall write again soon. 

I promise I will do you and father proud, 

Robb 

\---   
Dear Jon, 

I am glad to hear you are back in the North. I struggle to imagine you in some parlour down south. In my mind you are always brooding in some wild and windy spot.   
I like Baratheon as much as you do. He is a self-centred man, and I barely tolerated him in London, and I had hoped Sans would have better taste. However, I still remember a time when calling your feelings towards her ‘brotherly’ would have been quite laughable. Do I detect jealousy?   
I am glad you managed to settle this argument between Sansa and Arya, if only for Mama's sake. Although if I know my sisters, they will find something new to argue about soon! 

I will try not to get shot. Have done quite well so far. 

Robb 

\---  
Dear Sansa, 

I am glad to hear that you would not be ashamed to be seen out in society with me! I would hope you would never be ashamed to be seen with me, even if am I only your humble older brother!  
I am glad to hear that you and Arya have made up now that Jon has returned home. You too are both too stubborn for your own good sometimes, but you know Arya, her anger tends to blow over like a quick summer storm.   
I know you must miss the balls of London, but I am glad to think of you as safe at home. I must ask, for I cannot help but think of her, how has Myrcella been? Did she take the rejection very badly? In London, with all the distraction of the balls and my upcoming posting, I did not think of her a great deal, but in the quiet nights and long marches, I cannot help but think of her more.   
Do not tell her my thoughts, I hate to cause the poor girl any more pain. But if she is still unattached, I will try and apologise on my return. 

I have no idea if my fellow officers are handsome, although my friend Tom happened to read the letter and insists that he is, and asks if you are very pretty. I told him that it was none of his concern. You know I dislike the idea of any man taking away my younger sister. Still, I thought that you had already set your heart on Baratheon. If that is not the case, and I would be quite glad to hear that it isn’t, then perhaps gaining a brother in arms as a brother-in-law is not such an unpleasant prospect. 

All my love,   
Robb

\---  
To Arya, 

As much as I would like to see you blush demurely, I will not repeat my men’s coarse words. Especially not in a letter! Mama could see and would never forgive me!.   
I would like to see you blush, however. It would be quite a sight!  
I’m afraid I shan’t be able to send you the first of my killing, my little Beatrix. I doubt he would fit in the postbag  
But I can tell you that I have certainly fired several shots in fights with the enemy at this point. If none of them made their mark I would be a rather miserable excuse for a soldier.   
When we have our first battle I'll save a souvenir from it to give you, will that satisfy you? Just do not tell mother, 

I'm glad to hear from Jon that you and Sansa have settled down again. Try to remember she is our sister and be nice to her, even if just for my sake, who love both of you very much. 

Robb

\---  
From Winterfell to Robb Stark mid-November 

My dearest Robb, 

I am glad to hear that you are doing well, although I cannot help but worry as you approach the front. You promise to do us proud, and while I am sure you will, your father and I could never be ashamed of any of you, but least of all you, my darling.   
The Manderlys are a good sort of people, and your father is familiar with them. They live in a great port town and are very cultured folk. Your father is unsure exactly how your Captain is related to the Mr Manderly that he knows, and he has written to him to ask. Do not worry, as this is more to satisfy his curiosity rather than campaign on your behalf. It is very admirable and proper of you to try and seek promotion purely out of your own merit, but as your mother, I wish you would let us help you more. 

The weather has grown even colder up here, and as I am writing this I can see the gardeners clearing up the great bonfire in the garden. We have had the quietest bonfire in recent memory with just us and the girls, as well as the village children. It was a busy night, and the fire was spectacular. But now Jon works for the parish he did the majority of the organisation and saved me the trouble. I had none of your boys to keep me busy either. Not that Bran was ever much trouble but I found myself missing the havoc you and Rickon you used to get up to. The whole evening I expected you and Theon to appear out of the woods carrying your Guy and Rickon to be trailing after you. I thought that I would enjoy the peace, but it only makes me worry more. 

Now that Bonfire night is over, the parish begins its preparations for the middle of winter. Although Harvest has long since passed Jon has been trying to organise more collection of food for the poor, throughout the winter. He also has news of his own, which I will leave for him to break to you. 

Write to us soon my darling, 

All my love Mama 

\-- 

From Eastwatch cottage to Robb Stark, early November 

Robb,   
Exciting news!   
Old Rv. Mormont has been talking of stepping down for years but has announced to me that he intends to retire officially after Christmas. He has been writing to the bishop and archbishop for months, without my knowledge, to organise the transition. He announced to me last week that he plans to join his daughter and grandchildren on Bear Island in the New Year. He has also told me that he has recommended me to take on the parish in his stead. I am already fully qualified and ordained, but now I feel I have the real-world experience I lacked when I finished the study. That also means that the Vicarage will also be mine from the New year onward. Mother wishes to remain at home, and so I will be running my own household for the first time!   
I know this must seem little to you, as one day you will be a baronet and Sir Robb Stark of Winterfell, but it is greatly exciting. 

Christmas seems so very close, and I am pouring all my focus on the preparations. I hope I will be able to fulfil the work that has been entrusted to me. The winter seems like it will be a very bitter one, and already the food collection programme I have put in place has been vital for some of our poorest families. I only wish that the other parishes would share in our enthusiasm. 

As always stay safe, 

Soon-to-be Reverend Jon Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have tried to get the timings of the movements of troops roughly right from what I know of the Peninsular war. In the summer of 1813 the troops were in Portugal and in February 1814 there was a major battle in the South of France, so crossing the Pyrenees around Christmas makes sense to me?  
I am no military expert and so this is all based off bits of TV shows and books I have read set in the period. If any of it is wrong please tell me! 
> 
> Also Jon is going to be a full on Rv. very soon. A very austen approved profession, and this will mean while he is not rich he will have some more status and stability. I am proud of him! 
> 
> Your comments on the last few chapters have been awesome and as always I'm open to any feedback you guys might have!


	16. A matter of Inheritance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned receives a worrying letter regarding the inheritance of his nephew and Catelyn comforts him.   
Jon makes a surprise visit to the house to go to the library, and ends up staying for tea. 
> 
> A reasonably mundane chapter!

Ned Stark frowned at the letter in his hand. It was the first week of December and he had hoped that with the affairs of parliament put aside he would be able to fully relax with his family for a little while. Yet the world seemed to have other plans for him. He read the letter again, before leaning back, considering its propositions while staring at the snow slowly falling outside of his window. 

He had no legal grounds to challenge the proposition, he thought idly. Mr Baelish was the boy’s stepfather now, and it made perfect sense for him to take over his finances. Yet he could not help think of poor Jon Arryn. He knew that Jon was far from a perfect man, but he had been like a father to Ned. He had, of course, loved his own father but he had been as cold and unknowable as the snow outside, but Mr Arryn had been so very human. It had been Jon who first recognised his intelligence and viewed him as more than just the second son and a disappointing replacement to Brandon. 

He thought back to the last time he had seen him, withered and utterly strange. He was a mockery of his former self, like some warped political cartoon come to life. They had known that Jon was ill for some time but seeing him like this made him real. That day- in the Arryn country house where he had once spent glorious summers- it seemed that a winter colder than any at Winterfell had come.   
The room was silent apart from the ticking sound of a grand clock and the rasping sound of his old friend's breath. The great curtains were partially pulled, giving the room a look of eerie twilight and the house was already decorated like one in mourning.   
That day he had made a promise, to look after Robyn and to protect his interests. Yet his promise meant nothing in the face of Mr Baelish’s more suitable legal right. A father must come before an uncle, especially when both connections were formed through marriage only. 

Ned could not help but distrust the request. He had been a careful guardian of Robyn’s not unsizeable fortune for years and the boy, for all his childishness, would reach his majority soon. He had to admit that he had failed at least in helping to raise the boy to know how to use his money and fortune, but he still had time. Only a few years, but time enough. And time enough for an unscrupulous man to waste such a fortune. 

It was not as if Mr Baelish were lacking in finances, and Lysa’s portion as a widow was more than generous. There was no financial reason for the new Mr and Mrs Baelish to suddenly need control of Robyn’s finances. But there was also no legal reason to refuse it. 

Ned did not realise how long he had sat in weary contemplation until Catelyn came through the doors of his study. 

“They called for dinner ten minutes ago, my darling. We have been waiting for you,” she spoke as if slightly annoyed at being kept waiting, yet one look at her husband’s concerned face melted that all away. She disappeared with a rustle of silk into the corridor, instructing a servant to have their meals brought to the study and to let the girls eat without them. Then she came back into the study.   
It was one of the older rooms in the great house, all great wooden panels and moody furniture. A bright fire roared and outside the snow dulled all noise in the house. She had never noticed the quiet as much as she had in the last few months. 

“What is it?” she asked quietly, placing a calming hand on her husband’s shoulder.   
Wordlessly he gave her the letter.   
She read it quietly, before sitting down with a sigh. She saw now why he was so disquieted. 

“I cannot refuse” Ned finally offered,   
“I could write to Lysa and perhaps make her see sense. You have always been a careful guardian of Robyn’s fortune and there is no need to change that.” even as she spoke the words they seemed foolish. She could as much convince Lysa to distrust her new husband as she could change the order of the seasons. 

Ned did not even bother to contradict her. She studied his face affectionately. She hated to see him so disquieted. 

“Perhaps instead then, we could invite him to spend Christmas with us? Tell Lysa it is to allow her some time alone with her new husband. By then Bran and Rickon will have returned and it will do him good.”

“I should have invited him to spend time with us many years ago.” Her husband finally replied, “I promised Jon that I would look after him.”   
He spoke in such a desolate tone that Catelyn could not help getting up to hold him gently. “He has a mother of his own. For all Lysa’s faults, she does love him very much. And we have had our children to raise.”

“We have done well there at least,” Ned smiled fondly, pulling his wife into his lap and resting his head against her arm. 

“Ay,” she replied gently. Ned broke out into a wider grin. “I remember a time when you would have said ‘yes’, all prim and proper like. I told you then we would make a Northern lass out of you.” 

Catelyn assumed an air of indignant shock. “Am I no longer proper?” Ned laughed at her, brushing one of the red curls he loved so much out of her face,   
“You are the most proper, best wife a man could wish for. Although perhaps I would not call you prim anymore.” He added the last part slyly, looking up into her eyes deliberately.   
Something familiar fluttered in Catelyn. Suddenly the years that had weighed upon her so heavily seemed to disappear. She studied her husband intensely. He had never been the most handsome man, but he had aged better than most men. Besides, every curve of his face, every wrinkle and grey hair was marked with a remembrance of some affection. His blunt broad hands with all their callouses had been the same that had held her children, that had touched every inch of her body, and that gave them perfection and beauty that no symmetry or youth ever could. 

She leaned into his touch, pressing his back against the chair, and bringing their faces level. She felt those familiar hands shift to hold her, splayed out against her waist and dipping lower down her back.   
She pressed her forehead against his, speaking quietly, “You will do what is right. I trust you to do that. You can do no better for Jon Arryn than that. And I will be here no matter what you choose.” 

Ned looked at his wife for a second. He slid his hand up, burying it in her curls, pulling her close so she could feel his lips as he murmured against her skin “What did I ever do to deserve you?” before kissing her properly. 

A sharp rap came at the door, and they sprang apart like guilty youths. Catelyn stood up and neatened her dress, before ordering them to come in, and two maids came in, each carrying a tray. They put them down on a sideboard and curtseyed. Before they could leave the room Catelyn called out to them again.   
“Tell my daughters that their father and I are retiring for the evening, and we shall see them in the morning.” 

The girls nodded politely, leaving the room and closing the door behind them. 

Ned and Catelyn could hear them giggle slightly in the corridor. 

“No doubt they think us silly old fools,” Ned spoke, his eyes sparkling with mirth. 

“No doubt they do,” his wife replied, crossing the distance over to him, dinner already forgotten. 

\--- 

It had already been early evening when Jon had set off from Eastwatch cottage. The walk over to Winterfell was a familiar one but lost none of its enchantment in the cold dusk. The setting sun painted the clouds in golds and pinks, and the few small falling snowflakes danced in the dying light. The snow under his heels was crisp and he savoured the fresh sharpness of the night air. He was glad to be home after the chaotic year. Sam had written inviting him to spend Christmas with him and Gilly. As pleasant as he was sure it would be, he had declined. He had had enough of the south and he was sure the newly-weds would wish to spend the time alone. He had been away from his mother and his duties too long. 

Jon was something of a born priest, with strong convictions and wish to impact the lives around him. He had thought, when he was younger, about following in his uncle’s footsteps in politics. But the issues he saw around him every day could not wait for politicians to care about them. His food collection had already helped some of the poorest families in the parish, small starving children, young mothers, and old men. 

A few flakes still clung in his dark hair as he was let into the great house. The lights were lit but it was quiet. The master and mistress had already retired for the evening, he was informed by the manservant who took his greatcoat. 

“If you can find Miss Arya then tell her at least I am here. I’ll be in the library. I have a book to return and there are a few books I wish to check for my sermon on Sunday.” 

The man nodded, Mr Snow was a regular enough visitor to know he was welcome. 

“Would you like some tea sent up to you?”   
Jon thought of his fingers, still stiff from the cold walk. 

“If it is not too late,” 

The man bowed and disappeared into the house. Jon made his way to the library- a great oak panel room. The embers in the fire were already burning low, so Jon stoked it and added a few new coals while lighting an oil lamp that sat on the reading desk to light his search through the darkened room. He knew the layout of the library well, he had spent many long hours studying in it. 

He pulled a great leather-bound volume out of his pocket and went to find the telltale gap where it had come from. It slid back in, seamlessly making up the set complete. The next book in the series slid out slowly from its snug spot, with a slight hiss of leather against leather. It was only after he had pocketed this book that Jon noticed a glow of light coming from a corner of the room. It couldn't have been the north-facing fireplace, as it came from near the south windows.   
Picking his light up from a small reading table where it rested Jon went to investigate. It was probably just a servant cleaning.   
There was something about the dark of the room and the way the gold let erring on the spines of the book caught the light that made the room slightly eerie. Unexpectedly he felt his heartbeat in his chest. 

He approached the corner, lingering for a second behind a bookshelf to make out who it was. Through a crack between two volumes, he could just about make out a familiar redhead, shining copper in the lamplight.  
She looked like some sort of oil painting in the dark, he thought. Hair loose from its pins after a long day and a few titian red curls cascading down her back. Her forehead was crinkled slightly in concentration, and she was biting her lip absentmindedly. The dark of the room and the low light sent shadows playing across her face. 

Suddenly she looked up as if sensing the observer. 

"Who's there?" she asked, clearly startled. 

"Only me," Jon said as he stepped out of the darkness. Sansa's mouth made a small 'o' of surprise, and even in the low light, he could see her blush. 

He gestured to the book in his hand, "I was just returning something and borrowing something new. Your father has always -" he tried to justify his intrusion. 

"I know," Sansa smiled "You're always welcome here. I just didn't expect you this evening. Please sit" she gestured to one of the other armchairs. 

Gingerly, Jon sat down. "It has been a while," he finally said. 

"It has. I think the last time we spoke properly was the opera" 

Jon smiled at the memory of his small taste of high society. "It was a good show" 

"Ay," Sansa agreed, bowing her head to read once more. They sat in studious quiet for a few minutes, each absorbed in their respective books. 

A kerfuffle was heard at the door and Arya came in carrying a tray laden with teapot, cups, and little cakes she had wheedled off Cook. 

“Jo-on!” she called into the darkness, dumping the tray on the table in front of the large fireplace causing the china to rattle madly. 

He popped his head around the corner of the bookshelf. He barely had time to blink before Arya launched herself across the room at him and trapped him in a massive hug. 

“Thank goodness you are here! Mama and father went to bed early and Sansa’s been reading most of the day. Finally, someone to talk to. I didn’t expect you this evening either. Anything the matter?”   
Before Jon could have time to answer she launched into questions again. “How’s the food collection going? Have you heard anything from Sam? How are Gilly and little Sam?”

Jon laughed and kissed her affectionately on the crown of her head, before ruffling her hair. 

“I just had to return a book” he began, “The collection is-” he pulled a grim face before continuing, “And Sam invited me to Christmas with them. I won’t go, of course, I can’t leave mother, but he and the others all seem very well. Little Sam has got better with his walking and has taken to chasing things around the garden. Apparently, Gilly can hardly keep up with him.” 

They made their way over to the fireplace chatting away. Awkwardly Sansa followed a few steps behind, unsure if she was welcome or not. 

It wasn’t until Arya sat down that she spotted her, “Hi Sans. What are you doing here?” 

“Reading?” Sansa replied, teasing her sister slightly, and waving her book in the air. It was then Jon spotted the title, 

“Oh! So you’ve finally got round to reading Dante!” Sansa tucked her hair behind her ear a little shyly. Jon had loved the book as a student and constantly recommended it to her. But there had always been some book about society and dances and all those strange exciting things she had always looked forward to experiencing to read about. Now she had experienced them, they had lost a little of their allure and shine, and she had finally got round to reading it. 

“What do you think?” Jon asked eagerly, while Arya rolled her eyes and poured the tea. 

“It’s beautifully written, but a little hard. There are so many references to people that I’ve never heard of. I also can’t help wondering why a pagan Virgil is a Christian guide?” She crinkled her forehead a little.

“If you like I could give you my notes from when I studied it. Although you might struggle with my writing.”   
Sansa visibly brightened. 

“If I can read Robb’s handwriting I’m sure I’ll manage. And I’d appreciate that, thank you” she gave him a small, genuine smile. 

“Oh! And on the subject of lending things, I bought these in town. The first one is Shelley’s ‘Queen Mab’ which is just-” she sighed, “- sublime. And the other is a little frivolous, but it was the book of the season. It might be a little silly for a priest, but…” She got up and fetched two small books, set aside on a small reading table. She couldn’t help but blush as she handed them over. They seemed the silly interests of a girl compared to offered theological uni notes.

“Pride and Prejudice?” Jon read questioningly. 

“Oh, That!” Arya jumped in. “Myrcella said it was very good. And Renly, and almost everyone I spoke to. It was supposed to be very funny. Maybe I can read it after Jon?”

“I’ll be busy over Christmas, so perhaps you should borrow it first,” Jon replied, handing the book over to Arya. Sansa tried her best not to look a little disappointed. She knew it was silly, but it felt a little like her offer had been rejected. Still, she smiled at Arya, “Let me know what you think of it. I think, perhaps, we might like the same book for once.” 

Arya smiled back at her broadly, and the trio settled to tea and cake, cosy in the warmth of the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No massive historical notes for this chapter, other than that Pride and Prejudice came out in the summer of 1813, which I hadn't initially realised when I began writing the story. From what I've read it seems to have been a pretty instant success and so I feel justified in having my characters read it.   
I've never actually read Dante's Inferno, so please don't expect any real detail on it, sorry. 
> 
> I hadn't intended the first half of this chapter to end up just being Catelyn and Ned being affectionate, but there you go. 
> 
> I'm also trying to establish Jon's role in the community up in the North. If you know your Austen I'm thinking of his as being local in the same way the various characters are in Mansfield Park and visiting each other all the time. 
> 
> I also had some feedback on the last few chapters about my writing of Jon, and though he's only briefly in this chapter, I'll definitely be keeping that in mind in the chapters to come. I do have plenty of plot planned out, and hopefully, I'll be able to make the characters decisions seem motivated in the text as well as in my head.   
Some people have also struggled relating or liking the way I've written Sansa so far, and I just wanted to say that I've tried to keep the complexity I like about her and about lots of Austen characters in the way I've written her. She is a bit petulant and spoiled but she also has good intentions and I hadn't realised that hadn't come across so well. Oops 
> 
> As always, any feedback is welcome!


	17. Advent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I intended for this to be all one chapter covering Christmas, but it ended up getting a bit longer than I intended, so Christmas will be spread over two chapters! (which may make the end count 36 chs) 
> 
> Bran returns home for Christmas and they begin the festivities, but not before a reminder of the harsh truth of life in Regency England.

Bran was the last of the Stark’s to arrive home. His journey from university had been a pleasant one but drawn out. The first leg of the journey he had shared with Jojen, staying with the Reed’s for a few merry days. Both he and Jojen had developed a new love of botany, and so, along with Meera, they had spent their days wandering the wild moors that surrounded Greywatch house, sketching and taking samples of the local flora.   
The second leg of the journey was much shorter and nearing its end, as Bran’s carriage rattled through town, its occupation swaddled in warm blankets and writing in his notebook, about the various samples he had collected. He put away his notebook as they neared the great gates of the Stark estate, excited to be back. The carriage rolled along the slippy road, turning at the great cast-iron gates- already flung open, expecting his arrival. Looking out of the window, he could see the familiar wilderness of the grounds, passing through dense trees into the inner park. As they did so, he spotted three figures running wildly toward the carriage. There were two boys and one girl, the former being Arya and the red-haired boy Rickon. He was unsure who their third playmate was, however, a slim dark-haired boy. The carriage continued, stopping in front of the great front door of Winterfell. Bran barely had time to shift the blankets off his lap before the great doors opened, to the welcoming sight of his home, decked out in lights. The decorating had already begun inside, with oranges and paper garlands illuminated by copious amounts of candles. All that was left to do was bring in the greenery on Christmas eve, only four days away. 

Inside his mother and father waited to greet him, enveloping him in a massive hug.   
Aunt Lyanna was also there, explaining to Bran that, “ With all the heavy snowfall over the last week, and Jon out on church business more often than not, we decided I should stay at the Hall over Christmas, so I don’t get snowed in.” 

“And you are more than welcome” Ned asked, kissing his sister merrily on the cheek. Bran smiled and hugged her too, before moving onto Sansa.   
Her red hair was pulled back in a plain bun, and after greeting her Bran exclaimed,   
“Your hands are positively stained in ink. Have you become a student too, in my absence?” 

Sansa flushed, explaining that she had just been letter writing. Her letter to Margaery Tyrell alone was already several pages long. 

The party moved into the drawing-room, while Bran’s belongings were unpacked, and they warmed up by the fire with hot spiced wine. 

“Where’s Jon?” Bran asked, “He’ll be here to greet you this evening,” his aunt explained, “But with St Thomas’s tomorrow, he has been especially busy with his churchwork.” 

Just then the front door opened, letting in a bluster of snow and three chilly figures. They soon bustled into the drawing-room, noses red and running from the cold, and still trussed up in scarfs and coats. Each of them was carrying a pair of skates, Rickon and Arya with their own, and the third boy, who turned out to be cousin Robyn, a borrowed pair. 

“Hullo Bran,” greeted Rickon, “Isn’t it damned cold outside!” 

“Language,” Catelyn tutted, without any real anger.   
“It is,” agreed Bran, bemused and hugging his icicle of a brother. 

“We were going to run to meet you but Robyn couldn’t keep up-” Rickon began cheerfully before Robyn broke in, 

“Hey! It isn’t my fault that the two of you run like devils. And besides, I’m still new to this skating malarkey and I’ve ended up falling over several times.”  
Rickon rolled his eyes at this good-naturedly, while Sansa smiled at her younger cousin, making a pet of him. Despite his slight whine, Bran was surprised to see how jolly Robyn was, his cheeks flushed and his hair wild. While he took the glass of mulled wine offered in sympathy by Sansa, he demanded no more petting and soon settled to play a game of soldiers with Rickon. 

“Aren’t you two a little old for toy soldiers?” Sansa teased, leaning over the back of her chair to ruffle her brother’s curls.   
“No such thing as being too old for soldiers,” Arya retorted, discarding the last of her many layers, to sit and play with the boys. They all laughed merrily. 

Ned inquired about the Reeds, and his old friend Mr Howland Reed, and Bran gave them an account of them and his time there. He discussed all the presents they had exchanged, from a rather fine magnifying glass he had given Jojen, and a solid bronze compass he had been given in return, to stop him getting lost on his wanderings. This prompted Catelyn to worry over him all over again, interrogating him in detail about where he went walking and if he made sure that he remained somewhere that was safe.   
Bran laughed it off, “It is Oxford, everywhere is safe for students Mama. And besides, how else am I to become a great man if I don’t explore!?” 

Jon joined them later that day for dinner, enlisting the rest of them for help the next day. Cat and Ned would remain at the house, to give out alms to anyone who came there seeking them, which many were likely to do seeing as it was the biggest estate of the area. Bran, Arya, Lyanna and himself would go out in pairs along a route to the poorest areas of the parish to give out boxes of fruit and vegetable, and Sansa, Rickon and Robyn would aid the Vicar in the vicarage, making up Christmas parcels to give out to those who came to the church seeking alms. He made notes of all of this in his notebook, his brow creased in seriousness. He intended to make this St Thomas’ more than just a day for the grand families in the area to feel good about giving a crust of bread to the poor. 

After his talk, Ned clapped him on the shoulder and drew him aside.   
“You’ve taken this very seriously,” he began, 

“Yes sir,” 

“I know you lost your own father when you were very young, and so although I know I’m only your uncle, I can’t help having something of fatherly regard towards you. And I am very proud of you for doing this. Not only as it shows you will be a good vicar, but because it shows you are a good man.” 

Jon’s dark eyes shone with pride. “I’m glad to hear you think so, uncle.” Ned nodded brusquely. He felt a tad unsure whether he should hug the boy or shake the man’s hand. So instead he just squeezed his shoulder and they joined the rest of the group. 

The next morning they all rose bright and early for their various tasks. The last down, as always, was Rickon. Sansa was a close second. 

"You know, Sans, that you do not have to wear a matching coat and Muff to help out at the church", Arya teased Sansa as they set off. They were to ride to church and then set off in their separate ways. 

"It is Christmas" her sister replied "I'm allowed to dress cheerfully if I wish"   
Arya rolled her eyes merrily in reply, as they continued along the snowy lanes, a cheerful party in all. 

As they approached the church they were met with the beat of horses hooves. Jon had ridden out to meet them. Lyanna was already in the hall, and she informed them that he had been up since before the dawn. He strode around the drafty stone hall impatiently hovering over each crate. All he had to do was wait for the Vicar to arrive and bless their offerings before the work of the day could start. Lyanna, who knew all of the lists by heart at this point, set them to work, instructing Bran and Arya to help load boxes onto the cart, the boys to move things into neat piles while showing Sansa the lists and boxes still to be made up. 

They had set up quite a production line of parcels by the time Mr Mormont entered. Sansa sat by the fireplace with Lyanna tying up each box with a neat bow, while Mrs Snow off ticked each box off her list. Rickon and Robyn ran around the hall, shouting occasionally the tally of boxes they had, making a competition of it. 

The others returned from loading the cart outside, cheeks red from the cold. Jon strode up to his superior eagerly, clasping his hand and wishing him all blessings of the day. His dark curls were wild as he took his hat off in respect and his ruddy cheeks and billowing dark coat flaked in white snow made him a handsome picture of health next to the older man, who, though far from frail, seemed a little tired and weary. 

They all filed into the neighbouring church, chilly after the hall which was warmed, at least, by a great fireplace. The blessing service was short, and afterwards, Mr Mormont led them all back into the wall, sensing the offerings with holy water. He spoke a final prayer, and as the final 'amen' rang out in the hall, he clasped Jon's shoulders. 

"Today will be your triumph, my boy. God bless you for all you have done for me and this parish" 

The two embraced, surprisingly emotional before a small cough was heard from the other side of the room. It was Arya,   
"Shall we head off?" 

Jon shook himself back to the task at hand,   
"Yes - uh- of course. And thank you, sir" I won't let you down"   
And with this he dashed out of the door, to begin their rounds. 

With the ringing of the great church bell at 10 am the doors to the hall opened, and a surprisingly large number of people began to file in. The slightly chilly room was soon hot from the jostling crowd. There were that one might expect to be seeking relief and aid, those who looked like they probably slept rough, but also a number were smartly dressed and well turned out. To Sansa’s surprise, she even recognised one of their maids. Catching her eye the girl bobbed an embarrassed curtsey to her, out of habit and hastily tried to explain, 

“It’s my mother, you see miss, she’s ill. My sister can’t help, she got too many little un’s as it is. We don’t know when my brother will be back either - and his pay has got to keep him too.”   
Sansa remembered vaguely, that the girl’s brother was a sailor, a strapping young lad with a booming voice who was part of the church choir. 

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” Sansa replied, as kindly as possible, though her cheeks went red with shame at the idea of someone in her family’s employ being in want. She made a mental note to discuss the matter with her father when they got home. 

The travelling party was just as busy. They had a large cartload of supplies and took supplies driving the cart, while the others rode alongside them. They went into parts of town Arya had never been, turning down all the less well-kept roads she had only ever ridden past. Jon, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly where he was going. Everyone they visited, whether young or old, he treated with friendliness, and he knew many of them by name. As they stopped outside the home of one young family a gaggle of children ran out of the house calling out to be lifted up on the horses. Arya happily agreed, lifting them up onto her horse and even taking the eldest for a brief trot around the yard while she held the reins. The cottage the family lived in was small, no more than two rooms, and the thatched roof looked shabby. Despite the children's merriment, they were ragged little things, with bony arms, and thin well-patched clothing. Their mother, who stood carrying the youngest and talking to Jon, was equally skinny and had a tired gaunt look about her. She smiled at her children affectionately and seemed bright enough talking to Jon. But she could not have been much older than Sansa. And Arya could never imagine Sansa in her circumstances. 

The party that returned home that evening was somewhat subdued. Jon, who was far more aware and used to the plight of the poor, was buoyed with success. After all, they had given out more this St Thomas’ than in the last two years in the parish records. All his planning and hard work had been a success. He only prayed it would mean fewer funerals in the coming months. Last year he had seen a family return to the small cemetery week after week, with tiny bodies in tiny coffins. The last burial- in late January, had been the mother- leaving only a 7-year-old girl and a 15-year-old boy in the care of the parish. He had done his best to find a situation for the both of them, and save them from the poorhouse, but he had been left with a sour feeling in his mouth as the young girl was taken in by a family of farmers who promised to care for her, as long as she earned her keep. 

Back at Winterfell for the evening, a large fire roaring, the party did their best to raise their spirits. They drank and ate, and made merry. Sansa and Bran played the piano and they played games they had not played since they were young children. Still, as they went to bed that evening the mood was quiet and a little sombre. He saw Sansa pull her father away to the study, and Ned return, with a grave and serious face. And Arya came up to Jon, himself, placed a gentle hand on his arms and said, 

“Thank you for letting us help today. We are so very fortunate and it is so easy to forget the rest of the world in our little woes. If there is ever any more we can do please tell us” 

She was so sincere and serious, and so unlike his little cousin usually.

“I will” he promised simply, squeezing her hand tightly, before making his way to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So St Thomas' day was a very real thing. From my reading, a regency Christmas would begin around the 6th of December and finish on twelfth night- aka the 5/6th of January. Christmas used to be a real 'festive season', and it wasn't until the industrial revolution that it was squashed into a short holiday to avoid giving workers time off. Thanks, Victorians... 
> 
> (Reference articles: https://www.historic-uk.com/CultureUK/A-Georgian-Christmas/   
https://www.regencyhistory.net/2018/12/regency-christmas-celebrations.html )
> 
> St Thomas' day was the 21st of December and was about giving charity for the poor, and thus was something I feel my characterisation of Jon would really passionate about. It also gives me a chance to give some of my characters a bit of a wakeup call as to the poverty around them. I think in the eyes of the Starks, poverty is something that exists in big southern cities and that they don't think about as being local to them. Although, as a concerned gentry family they would be able to do a lot for local families, I want to avoid the view of the Starks as perfect just because they are our protagonists. Regency England had a massive class hierarchy, and there were poor in rural areas as well as rich ones. This chapter is therefore a little more bleak, but I wanted to provide some balance and some more grounded aspects to the story. 
> 
> Also, please note that while St Thomas' was definitely a thing my description of the practices and ceremonies is entirely out of my own head. If it is anachronistic and unusual for the time period, I guess my excuse is that Jon is an unusual figure for the time period, and he's the one leading these events? 
> 
> As always any feedback and responses are very welcome

**Author's Note:**

> Ages- in this chapter 
> 
> Robert/ Ned- around 45  
Lyanna/Catelyn- 40- Stannis is also around 40 (I've increased the age gap between the brothers as in order for Renly to be around the same age as the younger characters- who are much younger than him in the original)  
Cersei/ Jaime- 38  
Tyrion- 34  
Renly Baratheon- 30  
Willas Tyrell- 28  
Garlan Tyrell- 26  
Leonette/ Loras- 23  
Jon/ Gendry- around 23/4  
Robb/ Theon/ Joffrey- around 20/21  
Sansa and Margaery- 18  
Myrcella and Bran- 17  
Arya and Shireen- 16 
> 
> I've combined ascpects of Various Austen novels in this work- mostly Sense and Sensibility and Persuasion (the former for the Sansa- Arya relationship and the latter more for Sansa) but have also drawn off wider regency inspiration including War and Peace- as the story will include aspects of the Napoleonic war later on- as it follows Robb and co in France/Spain.  
Please let me know if there any inaccuracies in the story- and just any general feedback will always be appreciated x


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